


30 Day Challenge: Bluestreak/Hound

by pipermca



Series: Prompts and Things [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers - Hearts of Steel, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Additional Warnings Apply, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, multiple AUs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-27 16:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 39,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipermca/pseuds/pipermca
Summary: A collection of (mostly) unrelated shorts, ficlits and drabbles starring Bluestreak and Hound as part of a 30 Day OTP Challenge.Individual chapter notes will contain relevant warnings or tags, if needed.





	1. Getting Lost Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> For NaNoWriMo this year, I’ll be attempting [this 30-day OTP challenge](https://pipermca.tumblr.com/post/166998656447/mizus-30-day-otp-challenge) for Bluestreak/Hound… The rare-pairing OTP that no one asked for, but I’m doing anyway.

Hound slowed, pausing at an intersection, before transforming into root mode. “Huh. I’m all turned around now.” He watched as Bluestreak also transformed, and shrugged at the other mech. “I think I took a wrong turn someplace. That’s a little embarrassing, considering how long I’ve been on board.”

“Well, that’s ok, Hound,” Bluestreak said. “It’s not like I’ve seen any of this anyway. It’s all new to me, so I don’t mind seeing it.” 

Walking down to an information screen, Hound pressed a few sequences. “Ah, yeah, I did take a wrong turn back there. That’s why none of this looked right.” He pointed down the hallway. “But while we’re over here, I might as well show you the oil reservoir.”

“Oil reservoir?” Bluestreak fell into step alongside the green mech. “I knew the _Lost Light_ was huge, but it has a whole oil reservoir inside it?”

Hound laughed, and Bluestreak suddenly realized how much he’d missed that sound. “Blue, this ship has entire **rooms** that none of us have even seen. I wouldn’t be surprised if we stumbled on an amusement park at some point.” He palmed open a large door. “Here we are.”

Bluestreak oohed as they walked into the oil reservoir. The inky blackness of the oil pool reflected the stars visible outside the large windows in the ceiling. “This is... Wow! This is amazing!” He looked at the other mech, his optics gleaming in the darkness. “This would be a great place for a party. Or just to hang out.” 

Hound nodded, looking up at the stars. “Mechs do hang out in here sometimes, but Ultra Magus frowns on non-sanctioned parties in here after Swerve threw one that went a bit out of control.” He walked down to the edge of the pool and sat down, patting the deck next to him. “But it’s ok to just sit here quietly for a bit. I come in here sometimes to relax and think.”

Bluestreak sat next to Hound and leaned back on his hands, looking up at the stars. “This reminds me of that mountain lake we found by accident that once, on Earth,” he said. “That was really beautiful. The water was so calm, like the oil is here, and the stars looked almost the same.” 

“It was pretty, wasn’t it?” Hound asked. He laughed softly. “We spent so long there that Prowl ended up sending Bee and Huffer to come find us.” He shifted and his fingers brushed against Bluestreak’s. “Sorry,” he murmured, pulling his hand away.

“It’s ok.” Bluestreak turned slightly to look at the green mech. “Hound... What... What happened to us?” 

After a pause, Hound shrugged. “I’m not sure. Different assignments. Too much time apart. Life, I guess.” He looked back at Bluestreak, his field tinged with regret. “I think we just grew apart.”

“Yeah. I guess makes sense.” Bluestreak looked back over the surface of the oil. “I just hate how it seems to have happened without us noticing.”

Hound said nothing, and just sat staring out over the reservoir.

Bluestreak kicked his pedes, brushing them against the surface of the oil. He watched the thick ripples for a moment. “Are you seeing anyone now?”

Hound shook his helm. “No.” A pause. “You?”

“No.” Bluestreak shifted slightly, and his fingers brushed against Hound’s again. “Would it be too weird... Do you want to... I wouldn’t mind if we...” Blowing out a vent of air, Bluestreak said, “I didn’t join the crew because you were here. But if you wanted to try again, I wouldn’t mind. Trying. Just to see.” He glanced at Hound shyly. “You know, just to see if it was distance, or just that we didn’t belong together anymore.”

Hound was looking directly at him and smiled. “I wouldn’t mind giving it another try. I thought we had a good thing, you and me,” he said. He curled his fingers around Bluestreak’s. “And if it doesn’t work out... This ship is big enough to lose sight of each other again.”


	2. Pet Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mild plug-n-play interfacing.

Hound couldn’t even remember when Bluestreak first started calling him ‘pup.’ He knew it was sometime after they’d officially became an item, but Bluestreak seemed to have slipped it into his vocabulary so effortlessly that Hound took no notice. He didn’t even notice when Bluestreak started using it in public.

In fact, it was only after Cliffjumper mentioned it that Hound thought about it.

“Why do you let him call you that?” Cliffjumper asked after Bluestreak left the rec room.

“Call me what?” Hound asked.

“Pup. It’s like you’re a… a pet.” Cliffjumper narrowed his optics slightly. “He’s not… You aren’t his pet… Like, a **pet** , right?”

Bumblebee suddenly elbowed Cliffjumper, causing the other minibot to glare back at him.

Suddenly clueing in to what Cliffjumper was implying, Hound bristled. “What if I am?” he asked. “And not that it’s any business of yours what we do in private, but no. It’s just something he calls me.” He looked around the table at the other minibots sitting with them. “Any other questions?”

There were none; not that any mech would admit to, anyway.

Hound knew Bluestreak meant the designation affectionately. But the next time Bluestreak said it, he held a finger to the Praxian’s lips so he could get a word in edgewise.

“Why do you call me pup?” Hound asked.

Bluestreak paused, his door wings dipping slightly and a frown creasing his brow. “I’m sorry, Hound. Did you not want me to?” he asked.

Hound shook his helm. “No, it’s ok. I was just wondering, why that and not something else.”

“I didn’t know you didn’t like it. You didn’t say anything when I started so I thought it was ok. I’m so sorry. Is there something else you want me to call you?” Bluesteak asked. Hound could feel that the Praxian’s field was becoming a little agitated, which had totally not been his intention.

“No, Blue, it’s all right!” He smiled at the red and silver mech, trying to placate him. “I like it just fine. I was just wondering where it came from.” He put his arm around Bluestreak’s shoulders, pulling him closer to him. “I don’t mind if you call me pup. Really.”

“Oh. Ok.” Bluestreak’s door wings flicked once. “Well… There’s your designation, Hound. And you’re so friendly, and nice. You’re so approachable, and everyone seems to like you. Then Spike brought that puppy to the base a while ago, and it just… It loved everyone, running from mech to mech, even though we were so huge compared to it. Everyone loved it. Remember how Bumblebee asked if he could have one, and Prowl said no? And even the humans couldn’t resist talking to it. And a while ago I was watching you talk to mechs in the rec room, and you reminded me of the puppy. Sort of. I mean not really, just a little. It made me think of you, and...” He lowered his optics. “Anyway. That’s where it came from.”

Hound leaned forward and kissed Bluestreak’s chevron lightly. When Bluestreak lifted his helm again, Hound smiled at him. “That’s sweet, Blue. Thanks. And really… I don’t mind if you call me that.”

* * *

Bluestreak, on the other hand, noticed immediately the first time that Hound called him ‘Bluebird.’

“Bluebird?” he asked, putting a hand on Hound’s chest. He looked up at the green mech quizzically. “Did you just call me Bluebird?”

“Yes,” Hound said, leaning forward, trying to catch Bluestreak’s lips again.

Bluestreak submitted to the kiss, turning the designation over and over in his processor. When Hound pulled back, Bluestreak asked, “Why? I’m not blue, and I’m not a bird. I’m not even an airframe.”

Hound propped his helm up on a hand and smiled at Bluestreak. “No, you’re not blue, but you’re **my** Blue,” he said, tracing a digit up Bluestreak’s shoulder armour. “And you have wings, sort of like a bird.” His digit traced down to a door wing, trailing along the upper edge and drawing a hiss from Bluestreak. 

“So… My name, and my door wings. Is that all?” Bluestreak asked with a smile.

“No.” Hound leaned forward again, nuzzling against Bluestreak’s helm. “Have you ever seen a bluebird? They’re mostly blue, but they’re also white underneath, with a red breast,” he said, his fingers drumming against the red armour on Bluestreak’s shoulders.

“Ok, fine.” Bluestreak huffed and rolled his optics. “My name, my wings, and my paint job – sort of, I guess.” He was silenced for another minute as Hound kissed him again. “Is that all?” he asked, his lips quirking back into a smile.

Hound shook his helm. “Nope.” He ran his fingers over Bluestreak’s exposed interface port, grinning when the Praxian’s fans clicked on at his touch. “There’s one more reason.”

Bluestreak arched against Hound’s teasing touch. “What is it?” he demanded as he felt Hound click his interface cord into place. Nipping at Hound’s chin with his dentae, Bluestreak pulled out his own cable and plugged it into Hound’s port. He tensed himself for the anticipated onslaught of data. “What’s the other reason?”

Allowing the connection to finalize between their processors, Hound gripped Bluestreak’s waist tightly. “Because when you’re really worked up, you sing just like a bluebird,” Hound whispered, and sent a burst of sensory information across the hardline.

Bluestreak’s optics brightened for a moment. Then, he threw back his helm and trembled as he was swept into the flow of data from Hound. As his charge began to rise, a melodious keen rose from his vocalizer.


	3. Patching Each Other Up

A sudden, high-pitched whistle was all the warning they got before the missile struck.

The mountain road they were driving on suddenly vaporized beneath their wheels, and they found themselves falling through the air. Hound had been in front, and he slammed hard against a boulder on the way down, careening off to the side. Bluestreak transformed as he tumbled down the cliff face, clawing at the ground to slow himself as he landed on the slope beneath the road.

Bluestreak skidded to a stop against a large pine tree, and peered up through the canopy as his targeting computer came online. He could hear the seekers above him. It sounded like they were circling back for another run. There were two of them; he caught a flash of blue and red through the trees.

“Gotcha,” Bluestreak said softly. He powered up his shoulder missile launchers and tracked the incoming seekers, waiting for lock-on. 

Tone. 

He fired both missiles.

The thunder of two direct hits was music to his audials. One seeker was hit in a thruster, while the other was hit along the fuselage. Not enough to kill, unfortunately, but Bluestreak had probably done enough damage to discourage them from sticking around. He heard the engines fade into the distance and let his targeting computer go into standby.

Bluestreak looked around. He’d slid quite a ways down the hill, leaving a gouge in the dirt and a path of broken brush and trees. 

“Hound!” Bluestreak couldn’t see the green mech anywhere, but he knew he couldn’t be too far away. “Hound?” he called again, then tried again using comms. He only received static in response. Frowning, he tried again, but quickly realized his signal was being blocked.

“Great,” he muttered. The seekers had probably dropped a jamming device before they bugged out, which meant they were likely planning on coming back with help. He had to find Hound quickly.

The terrain was steep and thickly treed, which made it difficult for Bluestreak to move quickly. But it was only a few kliks before he found a few freshly-broken trees, and he found Hound just downhill from the shattered trunks.

“Hound!” Bluestreak called, crashing his way through the remaining trees to the green four-by-four. Hound was still in his alt-mode, and was flipped upside down onto his hood. 

There was no response to Bluestreak’s calls.

“Oh no. No, no, no.” Running the last few meters, Bluestreak skidded into a crouch next to Hound’s frame. “Hound?” Holding a hand against the four-by-four’s chassis, he ran a quick scan. 

Bluestreak exvented in relief. Hound was still alive; he was just offline. 

He did a quick visual check of Hound’s undercarriage, but couldn’t see any obvious energon leaks. “Come on, Hound,” Bluestreak said, pushing against the Jeep’s side to flip him over. “Let’s get you up. You look like a flipped turtle.”

One good heave was enough to roll the Jeep right-side-up. Hound bounced a bit on his tires, and Bluestreak sat down next to him. The Praxian leaned against Hound’s fender and thought for a klik. He could go look for the jamming device and disable it so that he could call for assistance, but the devices were small, and it might take him groons to find it. Since he was pretty sure that the Decepticons would be returning and looking to finish the job, his only other option was to get out of range of the jammer. 

“This is not a good situation, Hound,” Bluestreak said, patting the Jeep’s hood. The metal felt warm under his hand. At least it seemed like most of Hound’s systems were running, even if he was unconscious.

Bluestreak heard something – the faint sound of an engine. He lept to his pedes and flared his door wings, alert for any sign of seekers in the sky. 

After a few moments he relaxed. It sounded more the engine of an Earth vehicle; perhaps a truck. Bluestreak perked. If there was a truck, there was probably a road!

Bluestreak brought up a map of the area and saw that there was another road nearby, only about 250 meters downhill from them. His best bet was to get them both down to the road, and then use the road to get out of range of the jamming device. Most of the Decepticon jammers only had a range of about a kilometer.

Bluestreak frowned at Hound’s alt mode and the heavily treed terrain. “This would be a lot easier if I was the one disabled and you were the one who had to tow me out,” he muttered to Hound’s unresponsive alt-mode. “But, I guess you have to work with what you have!” He stood up and grabbed Hound’s front bumper.

It was slow going. He pulled Hound’s down the hill using the green mech’s bumper, shoving through the brush, until he reached a fallen tree or boulder that blocked the way. Then he heaved the dead weight of the four-by-four over the obstacle.

After the fifth or sixth time that Bluestreak put Hound back on the ground, he heard a static-filled groan. “Blue?” Hound said faintly.

“Hound!” Bluestreak sat on the ground next to the four-by-four. “Are you ok? You were offline for about half a groon there. Can you transform? We’ve got to get down this hill so I can call for help, and you are really awkward to carry in your alt mode.”

Hound spat out another staticky burst. Bluestreak heard his transformation sequence start… And then immediately stop. The green mech groaned in agony. “Primus, that hurt! No. Something’s busted. I got error messages like you wouldn’t believe.” He shifted slightly on his tires. “I can’t drive either. I’ve got a busted axle or strut or something.”

Bluestreak frowned. “Does it hurt when I pull you along on your tires?” he asked. He worried that he had actually been doing additional damage to Hound earlier.

“I don’t know. Try it?” Hound asked.

Bluestreak hadn’t even pulled Hound a full meter before the green mech shouted, “Wait! Stop! Stop!” 

Stopping immediately, Bluestreak said, “Slag. It hurts, doesn’t it?” He knelt next to the Jeep and ran a hand over his hood as Hound groaned in pain. His door wings sagged. “I’m sorry. I probably was doing more damage to you earlier. I didn’t know!”

“It’s ok, Blue,” Hound said. He settled lower on his tires. “Can you just leave me here and go get help?”

“No,” Bluestreak said. “The seekers that blew us off the cliff road will probably be coming back with reinforcements. I’m not leaving you here.” He ran his hands gently over Hound’s undercarriage, looking for better places to grip his chassis.

“I could project a hologram to – no, wait. My projector’s offline.” There was a pause while Hound thought. “Blue, I’ll be fine. I should blend right in.” 

Bluestreak crouched down to lift the Jeep in his arms again. “Absolutely – oof! – not.” With a groan, he stood, the cables in his arms and shoulders protesting the weight he was forcing them to carry. “I am not – hrgh! - leaving you behind.”

So Bluestreak grunted and heaved the four-by-four the rest of the way down the hill, finally setting Hound down on the gravel road surface. Bluestreak dropped to his knees for a moment to let his ventilation systems catch up with the heat he’d been producing. “I’m just gonna… rest here a klik,” he said.

Hound tried to activate his transformation sequence again before giving up with a moan of pain. “Really, Blue, just run to call for help and then come back. It won’t take you long.”

“No. You’re even more vulnerable here on the road. You’re easier to see. Plus, I got you all this way already!” He patted the four-by-four’s fender. “I’m not leaving you here, especially when you can’t move.” Bluestreak took a step back and looked at the Jeep. “Besides, now that we’re on a road, I have a plan.”

It was not the best plan. It was certainly not a dignified plan. But it was a plan, and – to Bluestreak’s own surprise – it worked. 

First he moved Hound so that his front bumper was against a tree. Then, in his own alt mode, Bluestreak nudged his nose under Hound’s rear tires, and slowly eased the Jeep up onto his roof. 

It was awkward and ungainly, but after making sure that Hound was situated the best way possible, the Datsun crawled slowly down the road with the Jeep perched on his roof.

“Just don’t – whoa! – don’t take the corners too fast,” said Hound, sitting as low on his suspension as he could. His wheel base was slightly wider than Bluestreak’s roof, so his tires were mostly hanging off the sides of the Datsun.

“Don’t worry, Hound,” Bluestreak said, extremely conscious of the weight delicately balanced on his roof. He eased over a bump in the road. “I won’t let you fall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only day three and already I'm declaring that "the prompts aren't the boss of me!" I am just using the prompts as a jumping off point, so they might go in... interesting directions. :)


	4. Hospital Visits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immediately after [Chapter 3: Patching Each Other Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468/chapters/28729232).

Hound stared up at the ceiling of the med bay. Aside from the light fixtures, it was orange and featureless.

While it might have been boring to look at, Hound was happy that he **could** actually look at it with his optics, and not just his sensors. After he and Bluestreak were retrieved by Skyfire and the rest of the extraction team, he had been stuck in his alt mode for several days until Ratchet was able to repair his transformation cog. 

Hound had spent whole weeks in his alt mode before, usually while on a mission amongst humans that required him to blend in, but at least then he could move. This... This had been different. Being stuck in his alt mode **and** being immobile was a special kind of torture, one that had fortunately been resolved a few days ago. 

However, he was still immobile. Not because he couldn’t move, but because Ratchet had told him he wasn’t permitted to. Something about allowing the internal damage to finish repairing before jostling it on rough roads. Unlike the twins or Jazz, though, Hound was good at listening to the medic’s orders. Following Ratchet’s orders meant that he’d heal faster, and be able to get back to work sooner.

And getting back to work meant getting back outdoors.

Hound exvented. He’d had no lack of visitors, anyway. It seemed like everyone on the Ark had dropped by to say hello at some point. It was a little humbling, knowing that his presence was missed that much in the rec room or out on patrol. He appreciated every single visitor. But one visitor had come in more often than anyone else.

“Hi, Hound!” Bluestreak’s cheery voice jarred Hound out of his study of the med bay’s ceiling.

Hound smiled at the gunner. “Hi, Bluestreak! Did you just get in?”

Bluestreak pulled up a chair next to Hound and sat down. “Sort of. I got in a little while ago. They paired me up with Bumblebee for patrol today, and we just finished filing our report. Nothing much to it today. We didn’t see any Decepticon activity, but you should see the trees! They’ve all changed colour, and they’re so much more vibrant than they were last year. Sparkplug said it’s probably because of the weather we had this year; I guess it affects how bright the colours of the leaves are. There’s supposed to be a storm in a few days, so I hope you get cleared to leave med bay before then because if it’s windy, most of the leaves will fall and you’ll miss it. I know you’d want to see them, so I took a few pictures for you…”

Hound smiled at the Praxian and let his words wash over him. He did regret not being able to get outside, especially after hearing how colourful the trees were, but Bluestreak’s description was almost as good as seeing it in person. He listened intently as Bluestreak described the scenery, watching the Praxian’s door wings bob around to emphasize his words.

“Hey, I almost forgot!” Bluestreak fished a data pad out of his subspace and handed it to Hound. “Spike was telling me about a TV show, and I knew it was something you’d be interested in. So I had Teletraan load the whole series onto a data pad for you to watch while you’re stuck in here.”

Hound took the data pad curiously and opened the first file. “ _The Living Planet?_ ” he asked when he saw the title of the show. 

“Yeah. It’s twelve episodes, and each one looks at life on Earth in a different environment.” Bluestreak leaned over Hound and tapped through the episodes. “See… Forests… The poles… Deserts… Jungles… I didn’t even know there were so many different environments on the planet. We’ve only seen a few of these, and humans live in just a few as well. It’s so neat! Did you know that there are some animals that live only on a single island and nowhere else? Oh, and the human who narrates the show has a really relaxing voice. I thought you might appreciate that after listening to Ratchet all the time while you’re in here.”

“I heard that!” Ratchet called from the other side of the med bay. Bluestreak ducked his helm and then grinned at Hound conspiratorially, flicking his door wings.

Skimming through the episode titles, Hound smiled and looked up at Bluestreak. “Thanks, Blue. This is really thoughtful.”

“I wish I could visit you more often,” Bluestreak said, grabbing Hound’s free hand. He gave it a quick squeeze. “I miss seeing you. I miss being out on patrol with you.” He looked at Hound, his optics suddenly wide. "I mean... You find the coolest stuff to look at. Patrol's just more interesting with you along."

“I miss it too, Blue,” Hound said, returning the squeeze. He noticed the little flutter of Bluestreak’s door wings, and gave the gunner a smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be out there with you again soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Living Planet_ aired in 1984 on the BBC, and was narrated by David Attenborough. I've always found his voice to be very relaxing. :)


	5. Scar Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immediately after [Chapter 4: Hospital Visits](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468/chapters/28760376).

It was Hound’s first work shift after he had been cleared for light duty, and he had been assigned to the watch post on top of the Ark.

While Hound would normally have preferred to be out driving with dirt under his tires, watch duty suited him just fine for now. He had been paired with Bluestreak for the shift, and they both sat holding their rifles, scanning the surrounding terrain for trouble.

The colours had faded from the trees slightly compared to the photos that Bluestreak had shown him earlier, but there were still enough different shades of reds and oranges and yellows to thrill Hound. There was nothing like this on Cybertron - nothing showing the progression of the seasons through colour. 

There weren’t even seasons on Cybertron.

Hound glanced at Bluestreak, and saw that he was looking at Hound’s side. The gunner's optics flicked up and he ducked his helm as if embarrassed he was caught staring. 

“Sorry,” Bluestreak murmured. He looked up and saw Hound’s smile, and he sat up straighter. “I was just looking at your... um, at the weld on your side.” His optics looked down again. “I knew Ratchet had to repair your transformation cog, but that seems like a really big weld. Sunstreaker’s cog had to get repaired last year when he got thrown by Bruticus, and I don’t think his weld was that… big.” Bluestreak looked back up to meet Hound’s gaze.

Hound twisted so he could look down at the weld on his frame, and his fingers automatically traced its length. It was a pretty large weld, which was probably one of the reasons Ratchet wanted him to take it easy for a while. “Well, Sunstreaker’s a fair bit bigger than me, so a weld the same length would just look larger on my frame, I suppose,” Hound said with a shrug. “I’m just guessing though. Maybe my cog is larger than his? I have no idea.”

Bluestreak’s door wings flicked a few times, then he exvented. “Or, maybe, there was more damage to repair, and Ratchet and First Aid needed more space to work.” He frowned. “I know that I probably did hurt you more while I was dragging you, before you came back online.” His door wings sagged slightly and he looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey!” Hound reached over and put his hand on Bluestreak’s arm, causing the Praxian to look up in surprise. “You did what you thought was right, getting me out of a dangerous situation. I am not going to second-guess your thought process. We all have to make split-second decisions sometimes, and I probably would have made the same decisions you did in that situation.” He smiled encouragingly at the other mech.

Bluestreak looked up at him shyly and smiled. “Thanks, Hound,” he said quietly. “I… I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened, especially after I found out how badly you were hurt. I worried that I might have done something wrong. Prowl said I did the right thing. Ratchet did, too. But…” He put his other hand on top of Hound’s. “Hearing that you’re not upset means a lot to me.” His door wings fluttered behind him slightly. 

Hound felt his spark flutter along with Bluestreak’s wings. “If I didn’t say so already, thank you for getting me out of there safely.” He pulled his hand back, very aware of how much the slight contact between him and Bluestreak was affecting him. Bluestreak’s optics met his evenly, and Hound felt a slight flush rise to his face. He looked back out over the forest, and gripped his rifle with both hands again. “And thank you for a most interesting ride out of there. Although… I think I’ll be fine if I never have to ride on your roof in my alt mode ever again,” he said with a chuckle.

Bluestreak laughed, tipping his door wings upwards. Hound smiled at the delighted sound coming from the mech. “Yeah, that was pretty awkward, wasn’t it? My alt mode wasn’t made for towing anything, never mind carrying anything. I think Ratchet wanted to give me an audial-full because of all the dents he had to pull out of my roof, but Prowl wouldn’t let him.”

“Dents?” Hound frowned. Bluestreak hadn’t mentioned anything about getting dents from carrying him. 

“Nothing serious,” Bluestreak said with a shrug. He glanced at Hound again. “Ratchet tried to make me promise not to try carrying anyone like that again.” He looked back over the valley. “I said that I couldn’t make that promise, because who knows what’s going to happen tomorrow.” With a little grin playing on his lips, he added, “And that’s how I got the dent in my helm.”


	6. Making Fun of One Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains implied torture, threatened rape/non-con. Decepticon!Bluestreak AU.
> 
> (This prompt turned more into "needling each other" rather than making fun. My muse seems to have a mind of its own...)

Hound onlined his optics blearily, and then groaned. His helm throbbed. He was face-down on a rocky surface, and his hands and feet were bound.

Great.

“Oh, you’re back online already. I figured I’d shocked you hard enough that you’d be out for groons.” There was a disgruntled-sounding grunt. “My mistake. I won’t make it again.”

Rolling his helm to the side towards the sound of the voice, Hound saw grey pedes. He lifted his helm slightly and glared up at the Decepticon sitting on a rock near him. “I guess I’m just tougher than you thought,” Hound spat through his static.

Bluestreak stopped polishing his rifle long enough to cast a disdainful look down at the green mech. “Yeah. You’re really tough, Autobot. That’s why you’re in cuffs on the ground, and I’m sitting here waiting for a ride back to base with my prisoner, who just so happens to be you.”

It took a huge effort, but Hound managed to roll himself onto his side so that he could look at Bluestreak without straining his neck cables. “There’s not really any point in interrogating me. I’m just a scout. All I can really tell you is stuff about yourselves that you already know.”

Shrugging, Bluestreak said, “That’s not my call. I captured an Autobot, and Command will decide what to do with you. Once they get you back to the _Victory_ , Soundwave will probably want to figure out if you have anything useful for us.” He looked back down at Hound with red optics and smirked. “Or, if you’re really unlucky, Vortex will do the honours.” 

Hound shuddered. He had heard rumours of what Vortex had done to Mirage when the spy had been captured. “You can torture me all you want. I can’t give you information I don’t have.”

Bluestreak gave his rifle a final wipe, then subspaced the cloth. The Praxian lay the gun over his knees and leered at Hound. “I hope they don’t give you to Vortex, though. It would be a shame to ruin you that way. You look like you’d be fun to play with. You have such a lovely mouth.” A smile slithered onto his lips. “Maybe Lord Megatron will let me use you after Soundwave is done with you, as a gift for capturing an enemy combatant. I can even make a collar for you with a tag that says ‘Dog.’”

“My name is Hound.”

Flicking his fingers in the air, Bluestreak shrugged. “Dog. Hound. Whatever. I’m not really into naming my toys.” 

Frowning, Hound looked up at Bluestreak. He remembered the first time he’d seen the mech: dented, door wings broken, leaking energon from a dozen wounds, and a haunted look in his golden optics. He’d been pulled from the rubble in Praxus a shattered wreck by the rescue team. Hound had sat with the shuddering mech, letting him sob into his shoulder, waiting for the medics to arrive. 

The next time he’d seen the Praxian, it had been across the battlefield. The gold optics had been swapped for crimson ones.

“I don’t get it. I don’t understand how you could have taken up with the mechs that destroyed your city. Those monsters killed most of your friends and family, and almost deactivated you, too.” Hound ignored the snarl forming on Bluestreak’s face. “I didn’t think you’d be so eager to help the mechs who so thoroughly destroyed your life, Blue.”

With a roar, Bluestreak lept to his pedes and planted a kick right in Hound’s side. “Don’t call me that! No one calls me that anymore!” 

Hound bit back a groan, and looked back up at Bluestreak. The red and silver mech stood over him, vents heaving and his door wings quivering in barely-restrained rage. “Fine,” Hound finally managed to cough. “Sorry. Bluestreak.”

With another glare and a flick of his door wings, Bluestreak sat back down on his rock. He pulled the cloth out of his subspace again and started rubbing invisible smudges from his rifle with small, angry movements. “The cowards ruling Praxus said they could not choose a side, so they chose no side. Choosing no side meant they were fine with the status quo. They were fine with the inaction of the Prime, and with the rule of the Senate. They were fine with the Autobots’ side,” Bluestreak snarled. “Lord Megatron was right to make an example of them.” 

“Violence and genocide are no way to solve your problems,” Hound said. He curled his fingers around the edges of the cuffs, but Bluestreak had put them on correctly. He couldn’t wriggle his way out that way. 

“Power never goes to the meek, or to the weak,” Bluestreak said without looking up from his rifle. “If you intend to make changes to the system, sometimes you must spill energon to do so.”

“Innocent lives were lost,” Hound said, twisting his hands in the cuffs once more before giving up.

“Innocent lives were being ruined every day by the Senate,” Bluestreak countered. “Are they really so worse off now?”

“I’d rather be enslaved then be dead,” Hound said, frowning.

Bluestreak finally looked up, and smiled. “Well, that’s good to hear, considering your current situation.”

“Fine. So you just went running to the side that proved its capability for cruelty,” Hound said. “Is there no room in your world for compassion or kindness? Or love? ...Or family?” 

“Compassion and kindness got me nothing except pain and loss,” Bluestreak snapped, his door wings flicking hard enough that Hound could hear the hinges click. He glared at Hound, daring him to say anything else.

Hound watched the Praxian carefully, aware that his next words were likely to earn him another kick, or worse. 

Looking Bluestreak straight in the optics, he said, “Prowl and Smokescreen miss you, very much.”

For a nanoklik, Bluestreak’s fierce expression crumbled into despair, his door wings falling flat against his back. Then, he bared his dentae in a snarl and jumped back to his pedes, optics blazing and door wings flaring. He screamed at Hound, delivering a kick to the green mech’s frame with each word and smashing the butt of his rifle against his helm as punctuation.

“They left me behind! They left me to die! They mean **nothing** to me!”


	7. Death of Someone Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains brief description of major character death, feels.

Bluestreak stared out over the ocean, watching the storm roll in. The roar of the wind and the waves sounded like static in his audials, and drowned out the nattering voices in his helm: the voices that told him he could have done **something**. Something different. Something that would have changed the outcome.

Something that would have meant Hound would still be alive.

The roaring surf and wind drowned out the sound of engines approaching, and the distinctive sound of transformation sequences. He didn’t hear the soft shush of pedes in sand, either. But his door wings sensed the approaching mechs, and told him all he needed to know.

“I’m guessing that Prowl sent you to bring me back,” Bluestreak said.

“Prowl did send us, but not to bring you back,” said a voice to his left.

“He just wanted us to see if you’re all right,” said a voice to his right.

In his peripheral vision, there was a red shape to his left, and a matching yellow one to his right. The two mechs settled to the sand on either side of him, matching his pose: knees tucked up to their chests, arms wrapped around their legs. They didn’t sit close enough to brush up against him, but their fields pressed up against his gently, offering quiet comfort.

“He loved coming here, you know,” Bluestreak said. He laughed a little. “But yeah... Of course he did. He loved everywhere he went on this planet. I knew every time he went out on patrol he’d bring back pictures for me of the places he’d discovered. He really liked this beach, though. He would have liked seeing this storm come in, and the waves, and watching the rain fall.” Another little laugh burbled out of him. “We came out here once to build a huge sandcastle. It took us hours and hours, and right when we finished the tide came in and washed it all away.” His voice fell again. “We never had a chance to try building another one.”

The mechs on either side of him sat quietly.

“He always wanted to see whales.” Bluestreak’s cobalt optics had faded to the colour of the ocean: a dull grey blue. “Every time we came here, we looked. He knew there were pods of orcas that come this way sometimes, and Beachcomber had said he’d seen a humpback once. But in all the times we came here, he never saw one once.” 

The other two mechs said nothing.

Bluestreak stared at the waves and the grey clouds. Hugging his knees tighter to his chest, he whispered into the wind, “I missed the shot.”

He thought he had spoken quietly enough that his words would be whipped away by the wind, but they heard. Sunstreaker immediately said, “It’s not your fault.”

“If that grenade hadn’t landed just then, you would have made the shot,” Sideswipe added, his field pulsing with certainty.

“I never miss,” Bluestreak said. “It’s my function. It’s my sole purpose in this war. I make shots, and I save the lives of my friends.” His door wings had sagged low on his back, and their tips brushed the sand. “The one time I miss, I lose...” His vocalizer shorted out before he could finish the sentence.

Sunstreaker put his hand gently on Bluestreak’s arm.

With optics still locked on the waves rolling in to saturate the sand, Bluestreak reset his vocalizer. “The one time I miss, I lose Hound.” His voice crackled again with static. 

Bluestreak felt Sideswipe’s hand on his other arm. The twins pressed their fields against his, and he soaked in both forms of contact. He watched the repetitive motion of the waves forming, rolling in, the foam rushing onto the sand and then vanishing into it, over and over. 

He willed the visual of the oncoming waves to wash away the horror that he kept replaying in his memory.

Hound running for cover. He was too close. Why was he so close? Menasor looming over him. Bluestreak had a perfect shot to disarm the combiner, which would give Hound time to get away. The roar of an explosion, and his shot going wide. Recovering just in time to see Menasor’s sword come down and – 

It began to rain. Large, fat raindrops fell from the slate grey clouds that had slowly but inexorably swept towards the beach, and then the wind picked up. Bluestreak lowered his helm to his knees as the drops spattered his plating.

“I’m all right. I just need some time to think.” Bluestreak exvented. “You can go back and get out of the rain. Tell Prowl that I just need some time.”

Sideswipe moved first, shifting closer to Bluestreak on the sand. “We’ll stay here with you.”

Bluestreak finally glanced at the two mechs: first left, then right. “The sand and rain... It’ll damage your finish.”

Sunstreaker also scooted closer to the Praxian. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’ll buff out.”

Sideswipe nodded. “We just want you to know you’re not alone.” 

Sunstreaker looked back out at the waves, rain pelting his armor. “We’ll stay until you’re ready to go.”

Bluestreak looked back out at the waves, now tipped with white as the storm moved over. “Thanks,” he whispered, his words lost in the sound of rain sheeting down onto their armor.


	8. Sleeping In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after [Chapter 5: Scar Worship](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468/chapters/28785339).

It was still very early, but that was the perfect time to grab some energon from the mess hall and get it to Prowl, before the mech got too involved in his work.

Jazz walked past the door to the rec room, paused, and then took two steps back to look through the doorway.

The lights were off, but the television set was on. There was a test pattern on the screen, and no sound came from the set’s speakers.

Shaking his helm, Jazz entered the rec room with the intention of turning off the set. He would have to send around yet **another** reminder that when mechs were done watching the television, they were supposed to turn it off. Last time, it was the Protectobots who had stayed up late watching a _Herbie the Love Bug_ marathon, and just left the set on when they were done.

But as he approached the corner where all the chairs and couches had been arranged around the television, he saw the tip of a door wing poking above the back of the largest, plushiest couch. Jazz crept forward and peered over the edge of the couch.

Hound was slouched down in the cushions of the couch. His helm was rocked back, his optics were closed, and his mouth hung open. Curled up at his side, his helm in Hound’s lap, was Bluestreak. One of Hound’s hands rested on Bluestreak’s waist. 

Both mechs were deep in recharge.

 _Well, well_ , Jazz thought. The two mechs had been dancing around each other for almost a full month. He figured all they needed were a few well-placed nudges. 

And Jazz knew what he could do to give one of those nudges.

Smiling, Jazz stealthily came around the couch and turned the television set off. Then he retreated from the room, closing the door silently behind him.

::Hey, Prowler.:: Jazz knew the tactician was up, since he’d been gone already when Jazz had come out of recharge. ::What duty shifts are Bluestreak and Hound scheduled for today?::

Prowl responded immediately. ::Hound has the day off as part of his light duty schedule. Bluestreak has patrol at 1300 local. Why?::

 _Perfect_ , Jazz thought. He made sure to tag his reply with a glyph of innocence. ::Just wonderin’! Thanks!:: He closed the comm link before Prowl could reply, then opened a second link to another officer he knew was always awake at this hour.

::Hey, Red! Can ya do me a favour? Can ya keep mechs outta the rec room until 1100 local? If anyone asks just say it’s for maintenance.::

Jazz could practically hear Red Alert’s frown over the comm. ::Why? I see that Hound and Bluestreak are in there.::

Jazz gave the most innocent and truthful response he could think of. He knew that Red Alert would figure it out sooner or later anyway, just like Prowl would, but there was no reason to tip his hand so soon. ::Ya. They’re both out hard, and I wanna give them some more time to recharge without bein’ disturbed. Please, Red? I promise to tell ya the next time I hear about the twins settin’ up for a prank!::

Red Alert’s response carried a glyph of reluctance, but Jazz smiled when he received it. ::All right. Fine. Just this once.::

Jazz heard the door lock, and he carried on down the hallway, quietly singing a snippet of a tune he’d heard on the humans’ radio the day before.

_Wake me up before you go go,_  
_‘Cause I’m not planning on going solo._  
_Wake me up before you go go,_  
_Take me dancing tonight._

* * *

Bluestreak was pleasantly warm. He snuggled down into the soft surface he was laying on, his hands curled up against his chest.

The pillow under his helm moved slightly.

“Nooo…” Bluestreak mumbled, his hand coming up to readjust the pillow. His hand slid along warm metal, and he opened his optics blearily. “What…?”

“Good morning, Blue.”

Rolling his helm, Bluestreak looked up. Hound’s cheerful optics looked down at him. “…Good morning,” Bluestreak replied, his tone thick with confusion. He struggled to sit up, and looked around the darkened room. “Did we… I guess we fell into recharge watching the movie last night.” Checking his chronometer, he frowned. “It’s so late. Are we the only ones in here? Why didn’t anyone wake us up?” he asked.

Hound jerked a thumb back towards the door of the rec room. “The door’s closed. Red Alert commed me just after I woke up a few kliks ago, telling me we had until 1100 local before he let anyone in.” Lifting his helm slightly, Hound said, “Teletraan, rec room lights at 50%, please.” The lights flickered on and rose to the requested brightness.

Bluestreak lifted his door wings slightly. “Why did Red keep everyone out? I mean, I’m not complaining,” he said, stretching to work a kink out of one of his neck cables. “I think that was the best recharge I’ve gotten in a while, curled up next to you.” Hound’s optics brightened slightly, and Bluestreak froze, suddenly realizing what he’d said. “Err, that is… You make a really nice pillow?” He snapped his mouth shut to prevent himself from digging the hole any deeper.

“I didn’t mind being your pillow, Blue,” Hound said with a smile. “Last night was fun. It was nice just to hang out here, to relax and watch some movies, even after everyone else decided to go back to their quarters.” 

Latching on to the topic of the movies, Bluestreak said, “That was fun! And I’m glad that Spike explained to me that the ‘Saturday Night Creature Feature’ wasn’t a wildlife documentary. Although, you’d probably like that,” he added, his door wings tipping down for a moment. “I don’t think Groove knew what to make of the first movie, though.”

Hound laughed. “Yeah. He said he was going to ask Grimlock whether he’d ever met Mechagodzilla. Did he miss the beginning of the movie? Because he seemed to think it was a news broadcast.”

Bluestreak’s spark spun happily at the sound of Hound’s laughter. It sounded just like how Hound acted: friendly, kind, and cheerful. “Yeah, I think he came in late. That might explain his confusion.” He paused. “What was the next movie after that one? Something about a bomb...”

“It was called _The Beast of Yucca Flats_ ,” Hound said. “It was terrible.”

His wings dipping again, Bluestreak said, “I must have fallen into recharge during that one. I hardly remember anything about it.” 

“Yeah, you barely lasted past the first two scenes,” Hound said. With an effort, he heaved himself out of the soft couch cushions, and stretched once he got to his pedes. “You really didn’t miss much. It was hard to follow, and barely made sense. I don’t think radiation really works like that on humans.” 

Bluestreak watched the Jeep as he stretched and flared his plating, catching sight of cables and wires between the gaps in his armor that were normally hidden. He looked away before Hound could notice him staring, and stood up next to the green mech. “I’m sorry I fell into recharge and missed it, anyway. And... I’m sorry for falling into recharge on you. You could have woken me up to get me to move so you could go back to your own berth,” Bluestreak said. He turned and began refluffing the cushions where they had been sitting, so as to avoid meeting Hound’s optics. 

“I honestly didn’t mind, Blue,” Hound said. Bluestreak glanced up and saw Hound smiling at him. “I was fine where I was, and you looked so comfortable. It seemed a shame to wake you up. And besides,” he said, looking around the empty rec room. “I think I probably recharged longer here than I would have in my quarters. Trailbreaker had a shift early this morning, and he would have woken me up on his way out. I don’t think he’s capable of being quiet.” 

“Still... I wonder why they let us recharge so late in the morning?” Bluestreak asked. “Why did Red Alert keep everyone out so they wouldn’t wake us up?” 

Hound shrugged and then smiled again. “I don’t know. But I’m not going to look a souvenir pony in the intake.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**  
>  Jazz's song: [Wake Me Up Before You Go Go by Wham!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pIgZ7gMze7A)  
> The Protectobots' movie night: [Herbie the Love Bug](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ay3GgrYEa1M)  
> First movie: [Terror of Mechagodzilla](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDvukErD-ic)  
> Second movie: [Beast of Yucca Flats](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBGBHPr_OFc)


	9. Hugging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hearts of Steel continuity.

When the word came down that they were going to go underground and place themselves in stasis to wait out the deepening cold, Bluestreak was privately glad.

He was tired. He still threw himself into every battle as if it would be his last, since it very well might be. But the Autobots’ energy stores were becoming critical, so rations had become meagre. With his own power reserves falling ever lower, the relentless ice and snow and biting wind had begun to take its toll on him. 

Bluestreak was ready to rest, at least for a little while.

Hound, on the other hand, was not.

“The cold isn’t that bad,” he grumbled as they made their way to the cave where they would power down until the planet warmed again. “We’ve been to places colder than this, and we haven’t so much as flickered an optic.”

Bluestreak looked at his companion and smiled. “It’s not just the cold; we’re dangerously low on fuel, too. If it was a little warmer we wouldn’t burn through it as fast, and we might even be able to find additional reserves here. But as it is now...” He shrugged. “We barely have enough energy to keep going, let alone search for new resources to use.”

The green mech tilted his helm upwards and watched the snow fall. Hound heaved a heavy ventilation, then looked at Bluestreak, his expression conflicted. “I know all that. I just... I hate going into stasis. I always have.” Hound looked down at the ground as they trudged through the deep snow. “It... It just feels too much like deactivation, you know?”

Ah. Bluestreak knew what Hound was talking about. During recharge, there was some processor activity as the mech’s systems ran maintenance programs. Their chronometer continued to run, and they could even track some sensory data of what was happening around them while they were recharging. 

But when a mech went into stasis, that all stopped. No maintenance was done, all non-critical systems ceased operating, and no sensory data was gathered or recorded. When they were brought back online, some mechs struggled with the gaps in their sensory data. Plus, going into stasis was not without its own danger. While a mech could usually drop into stasis and then come back out with no difficulty, occasionally a mech would fall into stasis so deeply that their spark stopped spinning... and went out. 

So it was no wonder that some mechs actively feared going into stasis. 

Placing a hand on Hound’s shoulder, Bluestreak said, “I understand. If you’d like... I’ll stay online until you’re fully in stasis, just to make sure you’re stable. I won’t power down until I know you’re fine.” He smiled encouragingly. “Would that help?”

Hound looked at Bluestreak for a moment before nodding. He leaned into Bluestreak’s touch. “Yeah. I think it would. Thanks.”

So when they entered the cave with the rest of the Autobots, Bluestreak and Hound found themselves a corner of the cavern away from the other mechs. Bluestreak sat with his back against the wall, and patted the ice-covered ground next to him. “Here,” he said. “I’ll hold you until I know you’re fully powered down and stable.”

Hound curled himself against Bluestreak’s chest, and the Praxian wrapped his arms around the green mech. “Thanks, Blue,” Hound murmured into the other mech’s chest armor. His arms encircled Bluestreak’s waist.

“You’re welcome, Hound,” Bluestreak said, and rested his chin on top of Hound’s helm.

It took quite some time for Hound’s ventilations to slow, and even longer for his systems to idle down to almost nothing. Around him, the other mechs all gradually slipped into stasis, until Bluestreak was the last mech still online.

Finally, he ran a gentle scan on the green mech huddled against him. Hound’s spark’s spin had slowed, turning only one revolution in a few days, and all of his other systems were offline. Bluestreak monitored Hound for another full orbit of the planet around the yellow sun, ensuring that the mech’s spark was turning at a slow but constant speed.

Confident that his companion’s systems would return to full power when called upon, Bluestreak kissed the top of the other mech’s helm. “You’re safe, Hound,” Bluestreak murmured. He shifted his grip around the green mech, and let his own systems fall into the silence of stasis.


	10. Watching the Other Sleep

Hound was startled out of recharge by a buzzing, grinding noise next to his audial. He jerked to a sitting position, his battle systems already coming online and his rocket launcher warming up.

The sound stopped as suddenly as it started.

Still muzzy from being jolted awake so suddenly, Hound looked around the room. It was dark, but he could still make out the fact that he was lying in his berth. Bluestreak was in still recharge next to him, seemingly unaware of the noise.

Still wondering what the noise had been, Hound set his battle protocols back into standby. He exvented slowly and lay on his side facing the Praxian. Bluestreak’s features were relaxed, and his mouth sagged open slightly. Hound smiled to himself, and resisted the urge to kiss Bluestreak’s slightly parted lips. That would definitely wake him up.

Realizing that Bluestreak was flat on his back, Hound shifted to make sure he wasn’t laying on top of one of Bluestreak’s door wings. His berth was a little small for two mechs their size, but with Bluestreak on his back there was even less room. Hound wriggled a little to get comfortable, then offlined his optics.

He was just initiating his recharge processes when he was startled by the grinding noise again. He onlined his optics and sat up.

The noise was coming from Bluestreak. 

Hound stared. He’d never heard a mech make that kind of racket before. Should he wake Bluestreak? Should he call Ratchet? The grating noise continued for a full klik while Hound debated, and then the sound stopped once more.

With a frown, Hound peered at Bluestreak’s face. He was still deep in recharge. Hound could hear Bluestreak’s systems idling quietly, but after a moment he realized that the Praxian’s ventilation systems didn’t seem to be online.

Alarmed, Hound reached for Bluestreak’s shoulder to shake the mech awake. But before he could make contact, Bluestreak gave a little snort, and his ventilations began cycling normally. Quietly. His mouth moved slightly as if trying to say something before falling slightly open again.

Propping his helm up on a hand, Hound watched and listened to Bluestreak. The red and silver mech’s ventilations sounded normal, and he looked relaxed. Wondering if he’d imagined the break in the other mech’s ventilations, Hound lowered his helm back to the berth. Maybe he’d mention it to Bluestreak when they woke in the morning, and – 

“SNNRRX-X-X-X!”

Optics wide, Hound stared at Bluestreak again as the mech made the loudest sound yet. This time, it had just been one short burst of the grinding buzz, and then Bluestreak settled into silence. Hound listened carefully, and his spark flipped when he realized that Bluestreak’s ventilations had stopped again.

“Blue!” Hound shook Bluestreak’s shoulder. “Blue, come on. Wake up.”

It took longer than Hound liked for Bluestreak’s optics to open and come online. The Praxian moaned slightly through his open mouth before closing it and turning his helm to look at Hound. “Huh? Is it time to get up already?”

Shaking his helm, Hound lowered his lips to Bluestreak’s for a quick kiss. He could feel warm air puffing on his face gently through the vents in Bluestreak’s helm, and he relaxed in relief. “No,” he said quietly. “You were just... Your air circulation stopped. It happened a few times. And you were making a horrible noise...” Hound put a hand on Bluestreak’s chest and nuzzled his lips against Bluestreak’s audial. “I was just worried.”

Bluestreak cycled his optics. “Oh.” He pushed himself up on his elbows, looking self-conscious. His door wings waggled slightly once they were free of the berth as he stretched them. “Sorry,” he muttered, his vocalizer still thick from recharge. “It’s because I was recharging on my back. I’m not supposed to do that.” 

“Because of your door wings?” Hound guessed. “I was worried you might wake up with a pinched actuator or a cramp.”

“No.” Bluestreak sat up fully, and put his hands in his lap. His door wings drooped as he looked down at his hands. “My... My ventilation systems are damaged. They were repaired as much as they could be after...” Bluestreak’s vocalizer clicked, and he reset it before continuing. “They were repaired after Praxus, but some of the damage was permanent. From the heat and dust and shards of metal in the air and...”

Hound wrapped an arm around Bluestreak’s shoulders. “You don’t have to tell me, Blue. It’s ok.”

Bluestreak leaned into the hug. “Well, you should know some of this, anyway,” he said, glancing at Hound. “I shouldn’t recharge on my back. Because of my damaged systems, my fans don’t run right if I’m in that position for a long time, and they start catching and making noise, and eventually the motors heat up so much they trip breakers, and then they stop running completely. They usually restart just fine on their own, but...” He shrugged. “The medics told me there’s a slight chance that they won’t, and my systems would start overheating, and eventually put me into stasis. So, that’s bad. Not to mention that it’s noisy, which I’m sure you found out.” Bluestreak looked up at Hound, his expression contrite. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s not your fault. You weren’t doing it on purpose.” Hound planted another kiss on Bluestreak, this one in the middle of his chevron. He rested his helm against Bluestreak’s and looked him in the optics. “So, all right. You shouldn’t recharge on your back. But if I see you **are** on your back, or you start making that noise... What should I do? Wake you up? Elbow you in the side until you turn over?”

Bluestreak finally smiled slightly. “Either one. Although, you might want to be careful how you elbow me; if I roll over the wrong way, you’ll end up with a face full of door wings.”

Laughing, Hound said, “Noted.” Hound watched Bluestreak arrange himself so his door wings hung off the side of the bed, and then curled up on his side facing him. He grasped Bluestreak’s hand in his as the Praxian offlined his optics. “Recharge well, Blue.”

Bluestreak squeezed his hand. “Thanks, pup. You, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for Extreme Snoring.


	11. Drawing Each Other

Hound looked at his drawing tablet and frowned. He looked up at the model, then back down at the tablet. 

His sketch looked… wrong.

The problem was he just couldn’t figure out **how** it was wrong. He scowled and scribbled over the sketchy lines he’d drawn before, trying to sort out what the issue was. 

Hound suddenly became aware of a presence standing behind him. He turned his helm slightly and saw the yellow plating of the instructor leaning over his shoulder, looking at his tablet.

“It’s a good start, but I think you’re not really seeing the model,” Sunstreaker said, speaking quietly into Hound’s audial so as not to disturb the other students around him. He held out a hand with a stylus and asked, “May I?”

Hound nodded, and Sunstreaker lightly drew a few curved lines over top of Hound’s work in blue. “All of our previous models have had similar frames,” Sunstreaker said, drawing another line across the mech’s shoulders. “I want you to really see his frame. Don’t just assume how it should look. See how the parts fit together. You’re thinking of rectangles, when you should be thinking of circles.”

The instructor straightened up, and Hound puzzled over the lines he’d drawn over his work. Then he looked back up at the model, trying to see him as if for the first time again.

Circles, Sunstreaker had said. Not rectangles.

Then after a moment, Hound’s optics widened. Oh. Oooh.

All of their previous models had rectangular frametypes, like Hound’s own. Last week’s model, a boxy blue cassette carrier, had been fairly easy to draw. Hound was so pleased with his drawings from that class that he intended to try doing a painting based on them.

But this model was different. He had some straight lines and angular features, enough so that Hound had apparently been fooled by them into trying to draw this model like he had the previous ones. But the rest of him… 

The rest of him was curves and soft rounded bits and graceful arcs. Hound quickly flipped his sketch pad to a new screen and started over, his optics locked on the sweep of the model’s hood.

“Two more kliks in this pose, then we’ll move to another,” Sunstreaker called to the class.

Hound hurriedly finished his rough sketch of the Praxian, then held out his pad, looking at it critically. He could already see that it was far better than his first attempt.

While Hound examined his work, Sunstreaker walked up to the model and spoke with him for a moment. The red and silver mech nodded and stood, setting aside the chair and lowering himself to the floor. He sat with his legs extended and bent slightly at the knees, leaning back on his hands with his front bumper pointing towards the ceiling. His door wings rested lightly on the floor behind him as he reclined, and his helm rolled back and to the side, looking out at the class. 

“Twenty kliks with this pose, then we’ll take a break,” Sunstreaker said, and the room was filled with the whisper of tablets being cleared and new sketches being started.

Hound began drawing and was quickly absorbed in the activity, glancing up occasionally to reference the model’s frame and pose. He drew the graceful sweep of his relaxed door wings, the jutting prow of his hood, the curve of his abdomen, and the slightly rounded bits of his forearms and legs.

When he began to sketch the model’s face, he glanced up, then down at his tablet. Then he looked back up again in surprise.

The model was looking right at him, a slight smile lighting on his lips. Hound lowered his helm again, drawing the model’s helm vents and the points of his chevron, before looking back up. 

The model’s smile had grown slightly, and his optics were still locked on Hound.

Well. The model had to look at **something** , right? Hound busied himself in making sure he had the mech’s features accurate and well-defined.

“Ah, much better,” said a voice in his audial. 

Hound looked up at the instructor. Sunstreaker peered at his tablet, then glanced at Hound. “You’re finally **seeing** him instead of just **looking** at him.” A smile flickered across the yellow mech’s face before he stood up and moved to the next student.

Peeking back up at the model, Hound met the mech’s optics again.

The model winked at him.


	12. Having a Lazy Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains brief description of airplane dismemberment. Shattered Glass/IDW-verse AU mashup.

Thundercracker shrieked and plummeted to the ground, skidding to a stop in a spray of desert sand. “My wings!” he screamed, his vocalizer crackling with horror. He clawed his way to his knees and looked wildly over his shoulder.

His wings... His glorious, amazing, brightly-coloured wings were crumbling away into rusty dust in the hot, searing wind. Frantically, he gathered the powder in his shaking hands before it could all blow away, and clutched the handful to the dome of his cockpit. 

“No...” he moaned, not even noticing as he was kicked onto his side and his pedes were tied together. He screamed again as his hands were pulled behind him, releasing what little remained of his magnificent wings to the wind. “Give them back!” he screeched as his wrists were cuffed together.

Thundercracker collapsed onto the sand, his face pressed into the hot surface as sobs wracked his frame. What was a flyer without wings? What was he without the ability to soar through the sky? He curled upon himself, the tips of his wings dragging in the sand.

....wait.

Thundercracker lifted his helm and looked around. He was bound in stasis cuffs, hands and pedes, but his wings... His fantastic, splendid, purple and red wings were firmly attached, and were spotless. His helm ached, his neck was sore, and a list of error messages scrolled in the corner of his HUD, but the most important thing was that his fabulous wings seemed to be undamaged. “Thank the All Ember,” he murmured, laying back in the sand in relief. Only then did he see the other mechs.

A dully-coloured grey and brown mech stared down at him, a little grin playing on his lips. “Huh,” the mech said, giving Thundercracker a nudge with the tip of his pede. “I’d have thought your worst nightmare was getting a less exciting paintjob. I guess I leaned something today after all, huh, Blue?”

A blue and silver mech with a yellow chevron standing beside him frowned down at the jet and said nothing.

“Hound.” Thundercracker lifted his chin and looked the grey and brown mech in the optics. “You would be wise to release me immediately.” He sat up as best he could, and spared a glace down at the plexiglass of his cockpit. He saw no movement. He prayed that his passenger was still safe after his hard landing. _Be still. Be quiet,_ he thought fiercely, hoping that the Autobots would not look through the glass.

“I don’t think we’re gonna do that,” Hound said. He crouched down next to Thundercracker and put a hand under the flyer’s chin, tipping it up to look at him. “We had nothing in particular to do today, and then you just wandered into our airspace. Who are we to turn down a little bit of fun on an otherwise boring day?” Hound smiled up at the blue mech standing beside him. “And besides, Blue gets downright ornery when he doesn’t have anything to do.”

Bluestreak stared at Thundercracker and said nothing.

“I am not your plaything!” Thundercracker said, lifting his magnificent wings instinctively to make himself seem larger. “If you do not let me go, the full force of the Mayhem Suppression Squad will be brought to bear upon you!”

Hound laughed and stood up. “Right. Good luck with that. Blue here pulled out your communications array, so how are you gonna call your goon squad?” He gestured at Bluestreak, who silently dangled a transmitter and antenna assembly in front of the flyer. Energon dripped from his fingers to the sand below.

Thundercracker suddenly linked the pain in his helm and neck with one of the error messages he had dismissed. He snarled. “Fine. So what do you intend to do with me?” As he spoke, he angled his cockpit away from Hound protectively.

“That depends on you,” Hound said. “Do you have any information that might be useful to Optimus Prime that would make it worth our time to haul you all the way back to base?”

As Hound spoke, Bluestreak walked around to Thundercracker’s other side, his optics never leaving the jet. Thundercracker tracked him warily but kept his attention on Hound. “I will tell you nothing,” Thundercracker snapped.

Hound shrugged. “Well then, I guess I’ll just let Blue here start disassembling you.” He looked up at the other mech and smiled fondly. “He’s really good at taking things apart… And I know he’s got a thing for wings.”

Thundercracker whipped his helm around to look at Bluestreak. The blue mech reached out a hand and stroked a finger down the back of the flyer’s wing. Thundercracker winced away from the touch, terror shooting through his frame again. “Please… No,” he said, hating the way the sound of his vocalizer shook in fear. “Not my wings.”

Bluestreak’s expression of detached apathy did not change, but his fingers trailed off Thundercracker’s wings and down the side of his fuselage. _Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look,_ Thundercracker thought as Bluestreak’s attention drifted past his cockpit, but the Praxian’s fingers wandered further downward.

“Whatcha thinking, Blue?” Hound said, crouching next to the jet, his attention glued to Bluestreak’s movements. “His interface panel?”

The blue mech’s optics flicked up to Hound for a moment before looking back down to Thundercracker’s frame. Silently, he dragged his claws down the blue and pink leg struts of the jet, then rested on his pedes. Thundercracker’s optics widened as a chisel appeared in Bluestreak’s hand, and he wedged its tip under the edge of his left thruster. 

Pain lanced up Thundercracker’s leg, and he screamed. He threw his helm back in agony and thrashed his cuffed legs out wildly. “Stop! Please! Please stop!”

Bluestreak didn’t stop. The blue and silver mech leaned his whole weight on the flyer’s legs, pinning them to the ground. With a savage precision, Bluestreak worked the edge of the chisel around the edge of the thruster’s casing, prying the cover loose from its housing. At the final searing stab of pain, Thundercracker howled as he felt the casing separate from his pede.

When his vision cleared of the static the pain had caused, he saw Bluestreak holding up the thruster casing. He turned it in his fingers, grimly examining it, before dropping it to the sand next to the jet.

“I told you he was good at dismantling things,” Hound said, leaning over Thundercracker and grinning down at the energon-covered ring. “Now do the other –“ The grey and brown mech froze, staring at Thundercracker. “What’s that noise?”

A yowling noise was coming from Thundercracker’s chest. “Nothing!” he said, trying to fire up his turbines to cover the sound. The stasis cuffs made the turbines sluggish, though, and he could only spin them slowly. “It’s nothing! You... You’re hurting me!” he said, feverishly willing his passenger to be silent.

Glaring down into the silvered glass of Thundercracker’s cockpit, Hound said, “What do you have in there, ‘Cracker?”

Bluestreak’s attention also drifted to the cockpit. He shifted his grip on the chisel and placed a hand on the metal next to the glass. 

“No, please don’t!” Thundercracker whimpered, cringing away from the touch. But over the sound of his voice, he could hear a warbling howl. He thrashed, trying to keep Bluestreak from getting the edge of the chisel into the seal at the edge of the cockpit. “Stop! Leave me alone!”

Another howl came from the cockpit, and Hound took a step backwards. “Blue, maybe... Hang on. Blue, wait...” the boxy mech said, his vocalizer quavering.

Bluestreak jammed the butt of the tool with the heel of his hand, and the cockpit few open.

A tiny brown figure leapt onto Thundercracker’s abdomen, baying her discontent with the situation.

“Yeeeaugh!” Hound cried, skipping backwards and tumbling into his aft, his optics fixed on the diminutive four-legged creature. “Get that hairy meat sack away from me!” 

The little dog bounced towards Hound, landing on Thundercracker’s legs. Shrieking incoherently, Hound skittered back another few meters before transforming and roaring away in a spray of sand.  
Buster turned her attention to the blue mech standing over her master, barking as ferociously as she could. Bluestreak took an uncertain step back, casting a glance in the direction that Hound had driven, then looked down at the dog. With a slight smile and a tip of his helm to Buster, he turned and transformed, following his fellow Autobot over the desert sand.

Thundercracker lay back in the sand, crooning at Buster as she ran up to his face. “Oh, good dog,” he murmured as the little dog licked his face plates. “You are such a good girl. Yes you are! Now... Can you undo these cuffs for me? Buster? Buster! Here, girl! No, stop that. Come here. Buster!”


	13. In a Fairy Tale

Bluestreak stilled his ventilations as he watched the herd move into the crystal grove. The torbuk were calm, barely even looking around. They’d grown fat and complacent in the King’s reserve, so Bluestreak was able to take his time to select his target.

There… That large one, near the front of the herd. Bluestreak figured it might be the herd’s alpha. It looked healthy and strong, and would bring a nice price at the market.

He sighted down his rifle carefully, and then pulled his finger back once on the trigger. 

The herd scrambled back at the sharp crack of the rifle, and the alpha fell where it had stood. Bluestreak smiled as he climbed to his pedes and walked towards the fallen beast. A good, clean kill.

When he reached the deactivated mechanimal, Bluestreak quickly turned the beast’s helm to the side, and pulled a knife and a large container out of his compartments. Slicing into the main fuel line at its throat, he quickly began draining the torbuk’s energon into the container before the fuel could curdle in its lines. He watched as the energon poured out of the beast. It was clear and clean, and would keep him fueled for a good while. 

As he waited for the lines to drain completely, he looked around him warily. The herd had moved back a bit, but a few members were staring at him placidly. “It’s all right,” he murmured to the closest one. “Don’t be afraid. I can only carry back one of you.”

The nearest torbuk blinked its optics at him, then lowered its helm to the ground and began grazing again.

Bluestreak scanned the grove and saw no other movement. He fluttered his door wings, pleased with himself. His observations of the guards’ movements had come in handy. There wasn’t a patrol due here for another few joors, so he had plenty of time to finish the job and escape with his prize. He wouldn’t even need to use any of the countermeasures he’d purchased.

His kill had been a large beast, so he needed a second container to fully drain it of fuel. Finally, the stream of energon from its throat became a dribble. He carefully closed both containers and placed them back into his compartments. Pulling out a length of wire, he began binding the torbuk’s front and rear legs so it could be carried more easily.

“In the name of the King, you are under arrest for poaching. Put your hands where I can see them.”

Bluestreak froze, then slowly lifted his hands into the air next to his helm. Scrap. He had been so absorbed in preparing his kill for transport that his attention had wandered away from watching for movement around him. He flared his door wings, and realized there was a mech standing behind him, rather close. Clever… The guard had used the herd as cover, hiding his own field in with the dozen or so torbuk milling around the tall crystals.

“Good day cycle to you,” Bluestreak said, still not turning around. “I am certain there has just been a small misunderstanding. May I stand so we can resolve it?”

“You may stand and turn around. Slowly. Keep your hands up.”

Bluestreak stood and turned around slowly, pinning a disarming smile on his face plates. The guard was a boxy green mech, and was levelling a rifle at him. Bluestreak was amazed at how close the mech had gotten to him without being noticed; he could almost reach out and touch him. He took note of the Royal Rangers emblems on the mech’s shoulder armor. So, he wasn’t just a guard, then. That explained why he was wandering around the forest outside of the usual guard patrols.

“As I was saying,” Bluestreak said, inclining his door wings towards the green mech, “I’m sure there’s just been a misunderstanding. I have permission from the King’s Master of the Hunt to take down this specific torbuk.” He flicked the fingers on one hand at the motionless frame on the ground. “The poor mechanimal had symptoms of gear rot, and His Honour wanted me to dispose of the beast to ensure it did not infect the rest of the herd.”

The green mech frowned, and his optics flicked once at the torbuk before returning to Bluestreak. “I have not heard anything about gear rot in the King’s herds. I don’t believe you.”

Bluestreak shrugged and tilted his helm. “Well… Ah, what did you say your designation was?” he asked.

“I didn’t.” The Ranger’s tone was flat.

Letting a small smile light on his lips, Bluestreak carried on. “Fine. Well, Sir Ranger, I have a token from the Master of the Hunt as proof of what I am saying. If you would let me get it out of my compartments…?”

The Ranger paused to consider this. Bluestreak saw the mech’s grip loosen just slightly on his rifle as he glanced back down at the torbuk’s frame.

Taking advantage of the mech’s hesitation, Bluestreak added, “This torbuk should be removed from the grove as quickly as possible. The longer it lies here, the more chance there is it will transmit the rot to the rest of the herd.” He turned himself slightly to one side, presenting his right side towards Ranger. “His Honour’s token is in my right chest compartment if you’d rather retrieve it yourself.”

His optics flicking back up to Bluestreak’s face, the green mech growled, “No, you pull it out. Slowly, and keep your other hand in the air.”

“Of course,” Bluestreak said, smiling. He opened his compartment and pulled out a small bag, cinched at the top with a wire. He held it out to the Ranger. “I’m afraid it’s tied rather tightly… You’ll probably need both hands to open it.”

“You open it,” the Ranger said, firming his grip on his rifle.

Nodding once, Bluestreak slowly brought his other hand down and untwisted the wire. He reached into the bag and sunk his fingers into the fine sand inside. Tilting the opening of the bag towards the green mech, he said, “His Honour was very adamant that he did not want the rot infecting the rest of the King’s herd, and –“

With a sudden movement, Bluestreak flung a handful of the sand in the green mech’s face.

The Ranger shouted in surprise, a hand coming off his rifle too late to protect his optics. The sand flew into his vents and across his optics, and he staggered back a step.

“Sorry about that,” Bluestreak said sincerely as he watched the Ranger lower his rifle and slowly scrub at his optics. He really hadn’t wanted to use any of his countermeasures, and he had nothing against this poor mech who was just doing his job, but he could **not** risk getting arrested. Bluestreak watched for another klik as the rifle fell from the Ranger’s fingers and his movements became slow. 

Confident that the dust he’d purchased from the ancient vendor at the bazaar had worked, Bluestreak put away the bag of sand, knelt, and finished wiring the dead torbuk’s legs together. “Don’t worry… you won’t be permanently damaged. You’ll fall into recharge soon, and will probably only be offline for a joor or so. I’m afraid you’re going to wake up with an incredible helm ache, though.” Bluestreak finished tying the torbuck’s legs and stood, slinging its frame around his shoulders. “No hard feelings, right?” He looked up at the green mech.

But the Ranger was not falling into recharge as he expected. The green mech was staring at Bluestreak, a deep frown creasing his brow. “You…” he croaked, taking a step towards Bluestreak.

Scrap. Scrap! The vendor said that the dust would take effect immediately. The mech should have been on the ground in recharge already! Bluestreak took a step backwards, holding up a hand. “Take a deep vent, Sir Ranger,” he said. “Like I said… Maybe there was a misunderstanding?” And maybe he’d be going back to that vendor to demand his shanix back... If, that is, he could get out of this.

The green mech cycled his optics and tilted his helm. A wide smile formed on his lips. “You’re... beautiful...” he murmured, taking a step towards Bluestreak.

“What?” Bluestreak’s door wings flared in confusion. He took another step backwards. “I mean... Thank you, but… What?”

The Ranger gazed at Bluestreak like he was starving, and Bluestreak was a cube of the finest fuel in the kingdom. “I’ve never seen another mech as gorgeous as you,” he said, holding out a hand imploringly to Bluestreak. “Please... Let me... Let me touch you. Just once. Let me touch your... perfection. Please?”

Taking another step backwards, Bluestreak stumbled over a rock and lost his footing. He felt onto his aft with a yelp, and dropped the torbuk carcass. The Ranger was on him in a moment, and Bluestreak rolled away, jumping to his pedes and snatching up his prize kill. “Yes, this has been quite the misunderstanding! I’m just going to go now, Sir Ranger, so please just – uh...” 

“My name is Hound,” said the Ranger, still stretching a hand out as if to brush it against Bluestreak’s face.

Bluestreak stumbled against another crystal as he backpedaled away from the green mech who was walking inexorably towards him. “Going! Yes, I’m going now. Hound. Um... It was nice meeting you?” He turned and began sprinting through the crystals, desperately hoping to reach a space open enough for him to transform and drive away from this crazy mech. “Bye!” he called over his shoulder.

“I love you!” Hound cried, running just behind Bluestreak. Scrap, he was fast! “I cannot live without you! Please! Please, come back!”

With a lunge, Bluestreak burst out of the close-grown crystals of the grove and into a more sparsely-grown area. He transformed and pealed out, tires spinning on the loose gravel.

The green mech – Hound – had also transformed and was still close on his tail. Bluestreak swore to himself as he drove. As soon as he lost this poor mech he was going right back to the bazaar and demanding his shanix back from that vendor. He’d asked for recharge powder, not love powder!


	14. Geeking Out Over Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after [Chapter 8: Sleeping In](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468/chapters/28861299).

Jazz was on his way to the rec room when his comm pinged. ::Jazz, please report to my office immediately.::

Whirling on his heel, Jazz made a turn at the next hallway of the Ark. ::On my way, Prowler. What’s up?::

::It’s Prowl. And we’ll discuss it when you get here.::

 _Uh oh_ , Jazz thought. That meant he was in trouble. He tried to think of all the things Prowl could possibly be mad at him for, and quickly came up with at least thirty-two items. And that didn’t even count the things that Prowl couldn’t possibly know about. Yet.

When he reached Prowl’s office, he plastered his most innocent smile on his face and strolled through the open door. “A’ight, I’m here,” he said, falling into the chair across from Prowl. “What did I do?”

Prowl looked up from a data pad. “You changed the duty roster for this evening without speaking to me first.”

Jazz relaxed slightly once he understood what Prowl was upset about. At least this wasn’t about the two thousand yards of plastic cling wrap Jazz had requisitioned for the twins. Jazz wasn’t ready to have that conversation just yet. “Yeah, it was just a minor tweak, and Bee agreed to the swap.”

Putting down the data pad, Prowl looked at Jazz intently. “The duty roster is carefully arranged for maximum efficiency. Bumblebee may have agreed to swap shifts with Bluestreak, but now he will be short on energy tomorrow morning because his recharge cycles will have been disrupted. This will detrimentally affect his productivity.”

Doing his best to look contrite, Jazz hung his helm. “Ah, right. I didn’t think of that, Prowl. I just know that Blue really wanted tonight free, and he asked Bee if he was willin’ to swap shifts before even comin’ to me.” Jazz looked back up at Prowl and held out his hands. “At first I was gonna tell Blue to just go talk to you, but then he made that face... You know, the one where his optics get all big and round?” Jazz tried to imitate Bluestreak’s face but realized the effect was probably ruined by his visor. “Anyways, I couldn’t say no.”

Prowl’s face was an unreadable mask. “It is quite easy to say no. You just say it like this: **No.** ” Prowl carefully enunciated the word.

“Now, see, that’s why he came to me instead of talkin’ to you,” Jazz said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms under his bumper. “You would just say no without even findin’ out **why** he wanted the night off.”

Flicking his door wings, Prowl frowned. “I am always willing to discuss duty assignments with anyone who asks,” he said. “If someone has a good reason for why they want to switch a shift, I am willing to consider making the adjustment for them.” When Jazz’s expression remained unchanged, he exvented and asked, “Fine. **Why** did he want the shift change?”

“He wanted to go to a movie,” Jazz said.

“A movie?” Prowl’s frown deepened. Ever since Sparkplug had gotten the Autobots passes for the nearby drive-in theatre, there had been a steady stream of mechs going out in the evening to see whatever was playing that night. “He has evenings off the whole rest of this week. Surely he could just have gone some other night,” Prowl said.

“He really wanted to go with someone **tonight** ,” Jazz said, his arms still crossed. A little smile played across Jazz’s lips as he saw the tactician’s processor add that bit of information into his database and reach a conclusion.

Prowl’s door wings tipped up fractionally as he realized who else had already been scheduled for tonight off. “Oh. So. I see,” he said slowly. “I suppose I really should start paying more attention to who is partnering with whom.” 

Jazz cheered silently. Prowl’s own social protocols may be slightly underpowered, but even he understood how important interpersonal relationships were to crew morale. “I’d be happy to fill you in on all the scuttlebutt, Prowl,” he said. 

“I’d appreciate that, Jazz,” Prowl said, one door wing inclining in Jazz’s direction. He shook his helm and added, “But going forward, please do not alter the duty roster without informing me first.”

Jazz nodded and grinned, knowing by Prowl’s tone that all was forgiven, if not forgotten. “Sure thing, Prowler.” Standing to go, he added, “Say, Ironhide’s hosting another Monopoly tournament tonight in the rec room. Did ya want to go? We made a pretty dangerous team last time.”

“Tempting, but no,” Prowl said, giving his door wings another flick. “There’s something I need to do.”

* * *

“That movie was the best!” Bluestreak exclaimed, weaving back and forth in his lane on the road leading towards the Ark. He had behaved himself while on the public highway, but now that they were getting close to the ship Bluestreak felt comfortable driving a bit more like… well, more like himself. He sped up, then pulled a handbrake turn to spin around back towards Hound. The Jeep slowed down, and Bluestreak spun in another happy circle around him. 

As Bluestreak pulled alongside him again, Hound laughed. “It was pretty fun,” he agreed. “I’m glad we happened to have the evening off together so we could both go. I don’t think I understood all the jokes – I think I’m going to have to ask Spike why we heard people laugh when Marty’s mom started calling him Calvin – but otherwise it was really good.”

“And that car was so cool! I kind of wish Teletraan had reformatted me as a Delorean!” Bluestreak said, skipping forward with a little peal of his tires before falling back to Hound’s side. “I’ve never seen an Earth car with thrusters like that! It looked so neat.”

Hound made a little sound of uncertainty. “I don’t think real Deloreans have those thrusters,” he said. “I think that was supposed to be part of the time machine.”

“Oh. Well, still. That was a great-looking car,” Bluestreak said. He weaved back and forth in his lane again, thinking. “Say, remember last year when Spike asked us what we were all dressing up as for that holiday in the fall? And we’d never heard of it, but it sounded like a great idea, but it was way too late for us to come up with good costumes for it?”

“You mean Halloween?” Hound asked.

“Yeah! That one!” Bluestreak slowed down slightly, rocking on his tires in excitement. “What if this year I got Wheeljack to help me make some fake thrusters, and some wires and tubing and stuff for my sides, to make me look like the time machine from the movie? I’m almost the same shape and colour as the Delorean. I’ll bet I’d look exactly like the time machine!” 

Hound laughed. “You’re right. You’d probably look just like it with a little bit of work.”

“I wish there was a Jeep or something like it in the movie,” Bluestreak said, slowing even more. “It would have been fun if we could have dressed up together. Um. If you wanted to,” he added hastily.

“That sounds like fun, actually. I’d love to have coordinating costumes.” Hound slowed as well so he could continue driving alongside Bluestreak. “And... I don’t need an elaborate costume. After all, I could just do this.”

Hound’s form shimmered and was suddenly replaced by a baby blue VW Bus. A human holding a machine gun rose from the vehicle’s sunroof and yelled in Hound’s voice, “Drive, you stinking time machine! I’ll catch you!”

Laughing hysterically, Bluestreak spun in another circle around Hound. His tires squealed as he came around the front of the Bus and he zoomed off down the road. “Let’s see if you bastards can do ninety!” he called.

The two vehicles careened up the road towards the Ark, weaving around each other and laughing. As they sighted the Ark in the distance, though, they saw flashing lights on the road in front of them. Bluestreak slowed down. “Oh, scrap,” he said.

“I wonder what he wants,” Hound wondered, and let his hologram flicker out.

The two vehicles slowed to a crawl as they pulled up next to the police car that was parked sideways, blocking the road. Prowl transformed into root mode. “Bluestreak. Hound.”

Bluestreak and Hound also transformed and walked the few meters to stand in front of Prowl. “Hi, Prowl. Sir,” Bluestreak said, his door wings tipping upwards in greeting. “What are you doing out here so late? Was there some kind of trouble?” he asked.

“No, not specifically,” Prowl said. He looked evenly at Bluestreak. “Jazz told me that you asked him for a shift change for tonight instead of coming directly to me.”

Hound’s engine coughed slightly.

Bluestreak’s door wings fell, and he cast a sidelong glance at Hound before looking back up at Prowl. His face plates felt hot. “Um, yeah, well, you’re always busy and Jazz was right there after I talked to Bumblebee and he said it was fine, so I didn’t think I’d have to talk to you.” Bluestreak could feel Hound looking at him. “Um. Sorry?” 

Prowl’s gaze shifted from Bluestreak to Hound, and then back again. A very slight smile crossed his lips. “If you want, I could schedule an evening off for both of you together once a week. That way you will not have to trade shifts with anyone to spend time together.” 

His door wings sagging even more in mortification, Bluestreak wished fervently that the ground would open up beneath him and just swallow him. He had told Hound that he’d just happened to have tonight off, not that he’d begged Bumblebee to take his shift so he could spend some time with Hound. He didn’t want Hound to think it was a date, even though Bluestreak wanted it to be a date, but not that Hound was supposed to know that, and oh Primus, would Hound ever even speak to him now? Bluestreak knew that Hound was probably rolling his optics at how awkward this all was, wondering why Bluestreak would ever think that Hound would ever be interested in him, and... 

“That would be really nice, sir. Thanks.” Bluestreak’s wings stiffened in surprise. He stared at Hound, his optics wide. The green mech was smiling at Prowl, then glanced at Bluestreak, his smiling widening. “I think we’d both appreciate some extra time together, if it’s possible.”

Prowl nodded curtly, and inclined his door wings towards them. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do. Enjoy the rest of your night.” He turned, transformed, and drove off towards the lights of the Ark.

Bluestreak stared after Prowl, then looked at Hound. The green mech chuckled and shook his helm. “You didn’t tell me you had to switch your shift to go see the movie,” he said.

“Um.” Bluestreak lifted his wings slightly. “Yeah, well, I saw that you were scheduled for evenings all the rest of this week, and that movie would only be playing here for another week, so it just seemed to make more sense for me to change my shift.” He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “I didn’t think it was important to explain all that to you, I guess. And...” Bluestreak pulled a long vent cycle. “I really wanted to see the movie with you,” he added. 

“Well, like I said earlier, I had fun tonight,” Hound said. “And I’m very glad you asked me to go with you.” 

Lifting his wings back even with his shoulders, Bluestreak stared at Hound for a long moment. Then he grinned. “Oh. Good! I mean, that’s great! I’m glad we could both go.”

“Now,” Hound said, casually taking Bluestreak’s hand in his and ignoring how Bluestreak’s door wings shot up over his shoulders. “Let’s go ask Wheeljack about making those ‘time machine thrusters’ for your costume.”

Dazed, Bluestreak nodded and began walking towards the Ark, hand in hand with Hound. He gently squeezed Hound’s hand, and the green mech returned the gesture, running his thumb in circles on the back of Bluestreak’s hand.

Bluestreak’s door wings fluttered behind him happily.


	15. Teaching Each Other How to Do Something

Bluestreak flipped through the data pad for a klik before stopping to examine a file more closely. “What about this one?” he asked. “Rusted hematite drops?”

Peering over his shoulder, Hound hummed for a moment. “Sure. Those look pretty simple. And we have all of the ingredients.” He looked up at Bluestreak and smiled. “But just to make sure, go down through the list and pull out all the ingredients listed. If we’re missing something, you can pick out a different recipe.”

It took several kliks for Bluestreak to locate all of the items listed in the recipe. He had never done any real cooking, so Hound had organized their kitchen. Once he had everything lined up on the counter, though, he smiled at Hound. “That should be everything. I got out a bowl, too.”

“Perfect,” Hound said. “Now, read through the directions before you start, and make sure you understand what it wants you to do.”

The Praxian skimmed through the directions impatiently. Surely following written directions couldn’t be too hard. Add this, mix that, cleave those... “Oh. Um. What does it mean to cleave something?”

Nodding, Hound opened a drawer and pulled out a tool. “You use this. The hematite comes in blocks, and you have to use the tool to break it down its cleavage planes. If you just put it in whole, some of the drops won’t have any hematite at all, while others will have huge chunks. If you crumble it, the hematite will oxidize too quickly and you’ll lose the flavour.” He handed the tool to Bluestreak, who took it gratefully. “All right, anything else?” he asked.

Bluestreak finished reading through the recipe. “No. Everything else seems straightforward.”

“Good!” Hound stepped to the side and gestured. “Now, just follow the directions. I’ll be right here if you have questions or problems.”

It almost seemed too easy. Why had he avoided cooking for so long? Mix the two energon flavourings and stir them into the liquid. Use that weird cleaving tool to slice off thin shards of hematite. Measure out the gelling agent and –

“Wait!” Hound’s hand fell on Bluestreak’s wrist. “Are you sure that’s right?”

“Sure I’m sure.” Bluestreak looked at the data pad. “Stir gelling agent into mixture and whip.”

“How much gelling agent?” Hound asked.

Bluestreak looked at the container in his hand. He’d measured out 30 grams. Then he looked back at the recipe, and his door wings drooped. “Oh. It only needs 10 grams. How did I misread that?”

“You needed 30 grams of hematite. Your optics probably skipped a line when you were measuring.” Hound released Bluestreak’s hand and smiled at him. “Always double check your measurements. It’s a lot easier to add in more if you didn’t put in enough... But if you put in too much, it’s usually really hard to fix.”

With a nod, Bluestreak re-measured the gelling agent and added it to the mixture.

* * *

When they were finished, the rusted hematite drops were... Well, they were fantastic. Bluestreak couldn’t believe how easy it had been. Just pay attention to the measurements, follow the instructions, and then enjoy the results. 

Bluestreak started making other recipes, always with Hound supervising just in case he had questions. The quartz squares were delicious, the iron gel was a new favourite, and the cobalt fizz drink made Hound cough, but he reassured Bluestreak that he liked it.

Finally, Hound was away in Kaon on an errand, and Bluestreak decided to surprise him with a special treat when he returned. Jazz had provided him with the recipe, giving it to him with a grin when he said he wanted to surprise Hound by making him something special. “This is one of Prowl’s favourites,” Jazz had said, flashing one side of his visor in a wink. “I always make it for him when he’s had a rough day. It never fails to put a smile on his face.” 

Before starting the recipe, Bluestreak read through all of the ingredients and made sure he had everything. He’d had to make some extra trips around Iacon just to gather the things he needed; apparently some of the ingredients were a little exotic. Once he was assured that he had all the ingredients, he re-read the directions. There were a few strange steps that he hadn’t understood, like braising the mica chips, but Bluestreak had asked Jazz for details on how exactly that was accomplished. 

Finally, confident that he had everything he needed, both ingredient-wise and knowledge-wise, Bluestreak began cooking on his own for the first time.

He heard the door of the flat open just as he was removing the tray of finished goodies from the heater. “Bluestreak?” Hound asked, sticking his head into the kitchen. “I’m back! And wow – whatever you’ve got going there smells delicious!”

Bluestreak wrapped his arms around Hound’s neck and gave him a hug and a kiss. “Welcome home. I made something special for us tonight.” He dipped his door wings and added with a little smile, “I wanted to surprise you by showing you how much you’ve taught me.”

Grinning, Hound put down his bag and sat on a chair by the kitchen island. He rubbed his hands together and said, “Well, I’m low on fuel, so bring it on!”

Bluestreak set the warm tray on the island and transferred two squares of the gelled substance to a plate before handing it to Hound. “Careful,” he said. “I think it’s still kind of hot.”

With a nod, Hound lifted the square to his lips and vented cool air on it. “Here goes,” he said, holding the square up to salute the chef, and popped it into his mouth.

The Praxian watched Hound’s optics widen, then narrow in an uneven squint. He worked his dentae, a strange expression falling across his face. 

Bluestreak’s door wings sagged. “Is it... bad?” he asked.

Hound opened his optics wide again and shook his helm, then tilted it from side to side as he struggled to swallow. Finally he managed to clear his intake and said, “Um. It’s. That was. Um. I’ve had worse?” He coughed. “Err, can I get a cube of energon?”

“What was wrong with it?” Bluestreak asked plaintively, drawing the requested cube from the dispenser.

Hound took a long sip from the cube before answering. “It was really... Sharp? Acidic? But not in a good way. I could tell there were other flavours underneath but that acid overpowered everything.”

“Jazz said it was one of Prowl’s favourites, and I know he likes acidic things. Maybe it just wasn’t to your taste?” Bluestreak picked up a cube and popped it in his mouth. He chewed for a moment, then made a horrified face. “Bleah!” He spat it out into his hand and tossed it into the waste receptacle. “How did you even swallow that? That was just awful!”

With a wry look, Hound said, “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Bluestreak exvented, his door wings sagging. “I don’t understand. I followed the instructions exactly. I mean, some of the steps were a little tricky, but I don’t think it would have affected the flavour like that.”

Coming around the island, Hound asked, “Let me see the recipe.” He looked over the data pad and tapped it thoughtfully. “Blue... How much boron did you add?”

“The recipe called for 25 grams,” Bluestreak said. “So that’s what I added. I measured twice just to make sure.”

Hound tilted the data pad towards Bluestreak. “It’s not 25 grams.”

Bluestreak looked at the recipe, and his door wings shot up over his shoulders. “What? I read the recipe five or six times. It was supposed to be 2.5 grams?!” He groaned and covered his optics with a hand. “I could have sworn it said 25 grams.”

“That would make quite the difference in flavour,” Hound said. He put the data pad down and put an arm around Bluestreak’s waist. Pulling the grey mech in for a kiss, he said, “I appreciate the effort anyway, Blue.”

Bluestreak looked at the pile of squares on the counter morosely. “I really wanted to surprise you with dinner,” he said sadly.

“Oh, I was surprised all right,” Hound laughed. He gave Bluestreak another hug. “And I’d love it if you tried to make them again sometime soon, only with the right amount of boron. They do sound really good.”

Finally giving Hound a little smile, Bluestreak said, “All right. I’ll give it another go.”

“But for tonight, why don’t I just call for some delivery?” Hound asked. “My treat.”


	16. Needing Each Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Definitely NSFW.** Contains explicit sticky sexual interfacing, rough sex, biting, knotting, referenced mpreg. 
> 
> Inspired by [this prompt from @maccadams-filthy-fills](https://maccadams-filthy-fills.tumblr.com/post/166081463081/g1-hound-being-really-rough-and-borderline-feral).

It started with the wildlife documentaries.

No, wait... There had been clues long before that, but Bluestreak simply hadn’t put it all together until much later. He had noticed the mod on Hound’s spike, of course. It was hard not to notice the slightly thickened ridge at the base of his spike, especially when it bumped and slid past Bluestreak’s anterior node so deliciously. 

Bluestreak knew what the mod was; after all, he hadn’t been any different than any other mech after receiving their adult upgrades. Who hadn’t curiously browsed through the catalogue of interface array upgrades, just to see what was available and what might pique their interest? He also had a vague notion of what the mod was for, although he didn’t really see the appeal in getting stuck to your partner.

He hadn’t asked Hound about it the first time they interfaced, and then after that it just seemed weird to say anything about it. Bluestreak finally decided that Hound would mention it to him when he was ready. Hound was a considerate lover; he always made sure Bluestreak felt comfortable and cared for, so Bluestreak just left the topic untouched. Hound never brought up his mod.

Not until the wildlife documentaries.

Bluestreak wasn’t quite sure where Hound had gotten the films from, since they weren’t typical broadcast shows. They seemed to be designed more for academics, specifically humans who studied animals in the wild. 

Humans had funny ideas about interfacing, so any mentions in broadcast shows of animals interfacing was always made carefully and circumspectly, and never in detail. But academics didn’t seem to have the same hang-ups. The documentaries that Hound showed him went into great detail on the mechanics, complete with film of the act itself. 

Hound had sat next to Bluestreak as they watched the documentaries in his quarters, radiating nervousness. Bluestreak found the first documentary interesting. By the third, he was beginning to see a theme. It was during the fourth one that Hound finally broached the topic.

Hound described what he was interested in doing, and finally put meaning to his mod. Bluestreak listened, and was intrigued. He’d had partners request odd-sounding interfacing things before, so he was no stranger to trying out different scenes or techniques. This one… This was totally new to him, and sounded exciting. So, Bluestreak agreed enthusiastically.

A few weeks of discussions and negotiations regarding boundaries later, Bluestreak found himself picking his way through the forest north of the Ark at night, keyed up, just slightly anxious about what he’d gotten himself into, and... 

Yeah, all right... He **was** excited about what was about to happen. Excited, but still nervous. He took a deep vent and reminded himself of his safeword: wolfsbane. 

Bluestreak entered a small clearing, and he looked up at the clear night sky. A full moon was rising in the east. He grinned. That was a complete coincidence. Tonight had been chosen for their encounter simply because they were both off-duty for the next few days, and the weather was supposed to be clear. The full moon was simply kismet. 

A twig snapped somewhere in the woods to his left.

The smile slid off his face, and he turned, his door wings flared and sensors scanning for what may have caused the sound. 

Nothing.

Another small sound to this right made Bluestreak turn to face the other direction.

“Hound?” he called uncertainly. Hound wasn’t that stealthy, and he couldn’t possibly have moved that fast without Bluestreak sensing him.

“I could smell you from kilometers away,” a voice said in his left audial. 

Bluestreak spun to his left. There was nothing there. “H-Hound?” he called again. He wracked his memory. Could Hound’s holograms make noise? He couldn’t remember.

“You reek of lubricant and ozone,” the voice said from his right, now unmistakably Hound’s. “You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?” 

Bluestreak whirled in a full circle, staring wildly into the darkened trees around the clearing but seeing nothing. 

It was true... He had been thinking of what Hound wanted, trying to reconcile the images from the documentaries with the scenarios they’d calmly discussed. As he thought.... All right, as he **fantasized** about the upcoming evening, he had found the crawling heat in his interface array becoming harder and harder to ignore as the day had gone on. He’d ended up leaving the Ark early, right after his shift was over, just to let the chilly night air cool his frame. 

“I **have** been thinking about this all day. All week, in fact,” Bluestreak admitted, still scanning the forest around him fruitlessly. There was just nothing out there for his sensors to pick up. 

“Me too,” said the voice, this time from just behind him. 

Before Bluestreak could turn, strong arms encircled him, and a leg sweep dropped him to the ground. He landed on his chest with a grunt.

He felt a surge of alarm that Hound could have snuck up behind him so quietly, and Bluestreak struggled to push himself up from the ground. A heavy weight on his back quickly pinned him to the ground. “Shh, my little bluebird,” Hound murmured in his audial. One hand scratched heavily down his right door wing, sending a jagged wave of pleasure directly to his processor. The other arm dipped under his shoulder so Hound’s hand could snake up to grip Bluestreak’s chin, sharp claws digging into the metal of his face plates. His helm was held still as lips ghosted across the back of his neck. “I’ve hunted you for hours, tracking your scent. Now, you’re mine.”

Hound shoved a knee between Bluestreak’s legs, parting them slightly, before using both legs to scissor Bluestreak’s legs apart. “I can smell you, so ready, so wet for me already,” Hound growled. Bluestreak’s optics widened; he had never heard Hound sound like that before. He shifted, trying to find some way to gain back a little control. As he moved, he felt the hard shape of Hound’s spike, already fully pressurized, bump across his aft. Bluestreak squirmed, bracing his hands against the ground and trying again to push himself up against Hound’s weight.

With a guttural snarl, Hound’s mouth closed on the back of Bluestreak’s neck, his dentae biting into the exposed cords. Crying out at the sudden pain, Blue flattened his chest and door wings against the ground, pressing himself against the leaf-littered forest floor. 

The hand on Bluestreak’s chin tightened. Hound released his dentae from Bluestreak’s neck and nuzzled the back of his helm again. “Don’t fight, bluebird,” he whispered. Hound’s other hand slid down Bluestreak’s frame and gripped his heated interface panel. “Open for me.”

With a whine, Bluestreak released his panel, letting it slide away to expose his dripping valve. He panted as his cooling systems tried to bring his core temperature down. “I **have** been thinking about you,” Bluestreak said, turning his helm to catch a glimpse of Hound’s narrowed optics. He felt Hound sink two fingers into his valve, and he moaned slightly before recovering himself. “But did you really think I’d let you catch me so easily?”

Bluestreak pulled his door wings up sharply, and one struck Hound in the helm. Hound howled and his grip loosened for an instant. Bluestreak twisted, rolling out from under the green mech and jumping to his pedes in a fluid motion. He began running for the trees at the edge of the clearing.

He made it all of two steps before Hound landed on him from behind again. He fell to the ground, pinned once more beneath the Jeep’s bulk. “I said you’re **mine** ,” Hound snarled. He wrapped an arm beneath Bluestreak’s waist, lifting the gunner’s hips slightly before sinking the full length of his spike into Bluestreak’s valve. 

Bluestreak shrieked at the sudden intrusion, his helm arching up against Hound’s shoulder. He felt the thickened ridge of Hound’s mod slip past his anterior node, pressing into it as it passed and sending a jolt of charge through him. As Hound began rutting into him, Bluestreak clawed at the leaf litter beneath him, little cries escaping his vocalizer with each thrust. 

Hound jammed his thumb into Bluestreak’s open mouth, holding his helm still again, and nipped at Bluestreak’s audial before growling, “Don’t move, little bluebird. I want you to feel this with me.” 

Bluestreak licked at Hound’s thumb inside his mouth, a quiver shooting through him every time Hound thrust into him as the head of his spike skated over the nodes deep within his valve. He could feel the base of Hound spike growing. Each time Hound plunged into him, the knot on the base of his spike grew larger, pulling at the opening of his valve more and more.

The Praxian squirmed again, shifting his hips to try to get Hound to hit those nodes that he knew were just _there_ inside him, but the Jeep pulled his hips up against him and bit down again on the back of his neck with a growl. Hissing, Bluestreak felt Hound’s dentae sink past the dermal covering of his neck cords and dent the metal. 

Bluestreak overloaded with a scream, muffled by the damp leaves under him. His valve clutched spasmodically at Hound’s spike as the charge crackled through him. Hound’s thrusts became short, and he groaned, venting hot air onto the back of Bluestreak’s helm. Digging his fingers into the leaf-covered ground, Bluestreak felt his first overload kick into the next as Hound’s knot slipped once more into his valve and stayed, swelling as the green mech’s spike began pumping transfluid into him. The Praxian keened, letting himself get utterly lost in the sensations that wracked his frame.

Slowly Bluestreak came back into awareness of his surroundings, and realized that Hound had released his neck and was murmuring to him. “You’ll look so beautiful, my little bluebird,” he said, licking at the back of Bluestreak’s neck. “You’ll look so lovely, all round and filled with our litter. With my pups.” Hound trailed his lips across the back of Bluestreak’s helm and down his jaw, licking and kissing his way to the scratches and dents that he had put on Bluestreak’s chin. 

Bluestreak felt his valve flutter around Hound’s spike, and he grinned weakly as Hound groaned at the sensation. “Your pups, huh?” 

Hound pulled Bluestreak’s hips up against him, rolling to his side, and ran a hand over the Praxian’s abdomen. “You’ll be round and full. You’ll be able to feel them all wriggling inside you, and you’ll be so, so gorgeous.” 

Shuddering at the image of his frame swollen by a litter of Hounds “pups,” Bluestreak moaned through another weak overload. Hound growled as he felt the Praxian’s valve clench down on his spike again, nuzzling and rubbing his chin over the top of Bluestreak’s helm.

Turning his helm to the side, Bluestreak caught Hound’s lips with his. Hound bit his lower lip gently, then licked at it soothingly. “That sounds... really hot, love,” Bluestreak said quietly. He relaxed in Hound’s arms and focused on the feeling in his valve. It was sore, but not terribly so. It felt pleasantly full. He put his hand over Hound’s where it rested on his abdominal armor. “I wish you would have told me about your mod ages ago,” he murmured.

Hound nipped at one of his helm vents gently, and his arms tightened around Bluestreak. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react,” he replied. “Not everyone is... into this.” 

Bluestreak let himself melt into Hound’s gentle caresses. “Well, you can call me hooked,” he said. He looked up and saw the full moon rising clear of the trees around them. A little grin playing on his lips, he added, “Once your knot goes down, would you be up for round two? Give me a five minute head start and I’m sure I can give you one hell of a chase.”

Hound’s engine revved as he chuckled, biting down playfully on Bluestreak’s shoulder armor.


	17. Washing Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after [Chapter 14: Geeking Out Over Something](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468/chapters/29000373).

Hound looked down at the tiny plastic card in Bluestreak’s fingers, then back up at the Praxian’s beaming face. “You want to take me to a... a car wash?” he asked faintly.

“Yeah! It’s lots of fun, and sort of relaxing. The twins first took me there for detailing a while ago, and I wasn’t sure about it at first either, but it was really nice being pampered like that. I mean, it’s a little weird at first, since it’s something you can sort of do yourself, but they can get into all the seams and crevices that we need the picks and mini brushes for. And all you have to do is sit there and relax, and they actually like doing it. Or they say they do, anyway. They said we’re a lot more fun to work on than regular vehicles.” Bluestreak paused to take a deep vent, his door wings fluttering behind him in excitement. “I’ve been thinking about taking you there for a while, and Sunstreaker finally agreed to let me use his pass. I’ve been meaning to get my own but just haven’t gotten around to it.” He smiled at Hound, radiating enthusiasm. “If you like it, I’ll get my own for sure and we can make this a regular thing!” 

Trying to suppress the frown that he could feel quivering on his lips, Hound looked at the card again, then back up at Bluestreak. He could find no suggestion in Bluestreak’s expression or tone that this was anything other than him wanting to do something nice with and for Hound. 

Hound knew he wasn’t the cleanest Autobot. After all, it came with the territory... Literally. Hound was sent to scout in very rough terrain where the other, sportier vehicles would have trouble driving. There was a reason he and Trailbreaker had been given quarters together, since the amount of dust and mud they tracked in after a trip would have annoyed other mechs. And even when he hit the wash rack right after returning, he mostly just made sure to clean himself up enough so that he wouldn’t leave a trail behind him, or dirty up the chairs and couches in the rec room. After all, he would likely just be getting muddy all over again the next shift, so why spend hours working all the little specs of dirt out from under his plating?

It had become a bit of a joke, one that Hound bore with as much good nature as he could muster. Some things happened so frequently they had stopped bothering him, like someone asking if he’d found any good mud puddles lately, or someone else laughing and making a show of brushing off a chair after Hound got up from it. But sometimes the reactions sunk their barbs into him, like the looks of feigned surprise when he was seen stepping out of the wash rack, or the subtle steps backwards when he walked past someone on his way to give his scouting report before rinsing off the mud. 

He was a dirty mech. That was his reputation, and he’d come to accept it as part of how he was seen. But the suggestion that Bluestreak might also see him that way cut straight to his spark. A little part of him thought that Bluestreak deserved more than a mech who was always filthy. 

The pass in Bluestreak’s hand could mean that the adorable Praxian thought he was dirty, and wanted to clean him up before spending any more time with him, or before getting more intimate with him. 

Or... Maybe...

Hound looked into Bluestreak’s optics, and could only see a mech who genuinely liked him for who he was, and wanted to do something special with him.

With a tiny smile, Hound said, “That does sound like fun, Blue. When did you want to go?”

Bluestreak bounced on his pedes and started talking.

* * *

“I made the reservation for 1500 local. Their detailing department gets really busy in the morning, but if you go in the afternoon they can spend more time on you. That’s what Sunstreaker said, anyway. He also said to ask for James and Mateo, so that’s what I did. I had James last time, and he was great! He’s super friendly. He’s going to work on you. Anyway, here we are!”

Hound had let Bluestreak talk away as they drove to the car wash. He was still not really sure what to expect, and had spent extra time this morning in the wash rack just so the humans didn’t think he was trying to take advantage of them. Or was that a thing he should even worry about? It was a car wash after all; surely they got really dirty cars sometimes. Didn’t they? 

He had no idea. Hound knew it was probably silly to worry about it, but he couldn’t stop the thoughts from ricocheting around in his processor.

Bluestreak followed a driveway around the back of the car wash to a garage door. A sign over the door read “Appointments” in English. He beeped his horn twice, and after a moment the door opened.

Hound pulled into the building behind Bluestreak, where a human directed them to wash bays that were side by side. “Hi, Bluestreak,” said one of the humans, flipping a towel over his shoulder. “It’s been a while!”

“I know! I’m sorry. We’ve been so busy with – well, Autobot stuff. I can’t talk a lot about it. But ever since Sunstreaker brought me here I’ve been wanting to come back. You did such a great job last time. Oh! And this is Hound. Hound, this is James!” Bluestreak rocked on his tires slightly.

The human walked up to Hound and looked him over carefully. “Nice to meet you, Hound. We don’t get many Jeeps in for detailing, but I’ll make sure we do a good job on you.” He walked around Hound and asked, “Do you have a top? And if not, do you mind water on your interior?” He peered into the passenger area of Hound’s alt mode, scanning the dashboard and console.

“No top. Water inside is fine,” Hound said abruptly. At a worried ping from Bluestreak, he added, “Sorry. I’ve never been... detailed? ... before, so I don’t know what to expect. I’m a little nervous.” He struggled not to settle lower on his suspension in embarrassment.

James smiled. “Nothing to worry about, Hound. I’ll explain what we’re doing, and if you have any questions just ask. Before I start, are there any sensitive parts I should watch out for? I know those two Lamborghinis are a little touchy about their spoilers, for example, and Bluestreak here told us to be gentle with his headlights.”

 _Oh, really?_ Hound filed that tidbit of information away for later use. “No, nothing comes to mind. I’m pretty rugged,” he said.

“I can see that,” James said cheerfully, rapping his knuckles lightly on Hound’s hood. “All right, then, I’m going to start you off with sudsy wash. Would you prefer bubblegum- or orange-scented soap?”

* * *

Hound could tell that it was starting to get dark outside by the time James was finishing up, but he didn’t care. He felt so relaxed that he had to struggle a few times to not fall into recharge.

“That should do it,” James said, turning off the polisher and standing back to admire his work. “You sure had a lot of grit under your panels, but I think I got most of it out. And your finish looks spectacular.”

There was a mirror set up at the end of the wash bay (which had apparently been requested by Tracks), and Hound looked himself over in amazement. “If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you repainted me,” he said. 

James leaned against the wall, admiring his work. “I went with a matte polish at the end, since you didn’t seem to have the same kind of finish that most of the other Autobots have. Probably for some of that rough driving you were telling me about.” He turned when he heard the purr of another engine. “Looks like Mateo’s done with Bluestreak, too.”

Hound could not help running his sensors over Bluestreak as he backed out of his wash bay. The Datsun practically gleamed in the lights of the bay. “Wow, you look fantastic, Hound!” Bluestreak said, rolling to a stop next to the Jeep. 

“You... look really good, too, Blue,” Hound said, still taking in the shine of Bluestreak’s finish. His sensors kept drifting back to Bluestreak as the Praxian settled the bill and they left the car wash. Even the glow of Bluestreak’s tail lights seemed brighter as they cruised towards the Ark, careful to avoid kicking up dust on the road leading to the ship.

After several minutes of listening to Bluestreak’s chatter and watching his rear end weave back and forth in front of him, Hound slowed down and said, “Blue… Let’s walk the rest of the way, ok?” He stopped and transformed into root mode.

Bluestreak rolled to a stop and transformed as well, his helm tilted and his door wings canted slightly downwards. “Sure, we can walk from here,” Bluestreak said. He looked down the road, where the Ark’s lights were clearly visible, and then back at Hound. “I guess we’re not in any hurry, right?” he asked with a smile.

“No, we’re not.” Hound stepped closer to Bluestreak and took his hand. “I just wanted to thank you for taking me to the car wash today.” He glanced up at the stars, and then back at Bluestreak’s smiling face. “I really had no idea what to expect. It’s not anything that I would have done on my own, that’s for sure,” he said with a laugh. “But it was really relaxing, just like you said. And I think the last time my finish looked this good, we were back on Cybertron.”

Bluestreak’s smile widened slightly. “You do look really nice,” he said. “And I’m glad you had a good time. I did too! It’s fun doing new things with someone who’s never gotten to try them out.”

“I have to admit I’ve been staring at your aft the whole drive here,” Hound said, smiling at Bluestreak’s sudden wide-opticked look. “I couldn’t help it. But... I don’t think it had anything to do with the wash it just got.” He ran his fingers gently down Bluestreak’s face. “I’m going to kiss you now. If that’s ok,” he said.

Hound waited for Bluestreak to jerk his helm in a nod, then leaned in to kiss the Praxian. 

To his happy surprise, Bluestreak was an amazing kisser. The mech certainly had some hidden talents.

* * *

A half mile away, at the entrance of the Ark, Sunstreaker frowned into the darkness. “Slag. There goes my ten dollars.”

“What?” Sideswipe glanced at his brother, then peered out at the dimly-lit landscape. After a moment, he laughed. “Well, I was out months ago. How far off were you?” 

Glowering, Sunstreaker said, “Three weeks. They both seemed totally oblivious.” 

Peering at the two mechs in the distance, Sideswipe said, “Well, it looks like they figured it out. I’ll comm Smokescreen and let him know.” 

Sunstreaker shifted his grip on his rifle and continued watching the two mechs standing together in the darkness. Finally a smile flitted across his face. “Slag, Blue, let the mech come up for some air.”

Sideswipe chuckled. “Still the same old Blue,” he said. He tipped his helm towards his brother and added, “Smokescreen said it looks like Jazz won this one.”

With a huff, Sunstreaker said, “Figures. He always wins these pools for some reason.”


	18. One of them is Sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humanformers AU.

Hound unlocked the front door of the townhouse and paused. A pair of shoes lay askew next to the boot tray, melted snow puddled around them, and a coat was draped over the back of the couch. Hound frowned and walked to the kitchen. It was dark and empty. He put the covered platter he was carrying in the refrigerator and returned to the living room.

“Blue?” he called, walking up the stairs. 

The door to the bedroom was mostly closed, but Hound stuck his head through the opening. A figure was huddled beneath the covers. A trail of clothing – a tie, shirt, pants, socks – led from the door of the room to the bed.

Hound crept towards the bed and sat on the edge near the figure. He pulled the covers back enough to see Bluestreak’s face, pale and drawn. Hound laid a hand on Bluestreak’s forehead, and he frowned at the heat he felt.

“Hound?” Bluestreak muttered, his eyes opening slightly. He shivered, his teeth chattering quietly.

“Oh, Blue. You’re burning up,” Hound said quietly. “How long have you been home?”

Bluestreak rolled over slightly, groaning. “I left work just after lunch. I started feeling a bit off after my coffee break, but then over lunch I felt like I got hit by a truck. Jazz took one look at me and sent me home.” 

“You silly thing,” Hound said. “You rode the bus, didn’t you? Why didn’t you text me? I could have come to pick you up.”

“I didn’t want to be a bother,” Bluestreak said, his voice sounding small. He closed his eyes and burrowed his face into his pillow.

Tucking the blankets back in around Bluestreak’s shoulders, Hound said, “You’ll never be a bother to me, love.”

Bluestreak cracked an eye open again and peered at the clock next to the bed. “Aren’t you home early anyway?”

“I’m late, actually. It’s six thirty,” Hound said. “I stopped at the grocery store to pick up the veggie platter for tomorrow.” Bluestreak groaned again, and Hound brushed damp red hair from his eyes. “But I guess we’re not hosting poker night if you’re sick.”

“This isn’t fair,” Bluestreak whined. “I got my flu shot. I wash my hands. I give sick people on the bus the hairy eyeball so they won’t sit by me. How come I got sick?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess,” Hound said with a sigh. He ran his hand over Bluestreak’s cheeks again. “You’re really hot. Have you taken anything? What’s your temperature at?”

“I don’t know. I just crawled into bed when I got home. And I haven’t taken anything,” Bluestreak muttered, sliding deeper under the covers as he shivered.

Hound got up from the bed and retrieved the thermometer from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He paused in thought at the top of the stairs, then jogged down to the first floor and put on the kettle. Then, after filling a glass with cold water, he went back upstairs.

Entering the bedroom again, he flicked on the bedside light near Bluestreak. “Come on, Blue. This will just take a minute. Open up and lift up your tongue.” When Bluestreak opened his mouth slightly, Hound put the thermometer under the younger man’s tongue. He placed his hand on the side of Bluestreak’s head, running his thumb over his cheek until the thermometer beeped.

“You’re at one-oh-one point seven,” Hound said, setting aside the thermometer and grabbing the glass of water. “It’s official. You’ve got a pretty good fever going. Here, I want you to drink a little of this,” he said, lifting Bluestreak’s head up slightly and putting the glass to his lips.

Bluestreak drank a few swallows of water, then let his head fall back to the pillow. “At least I’ve got some sick time to use,” he muttered. Then his blue eyes flew open. “I don’t want you to get sick because of me!” he groaned.

“If I get sick, I get sick,” Hound said, shrugging. “I’m more worried about you right now.” Hound brushed Bluestreak’s hair out of his eyes again. “I’m boiling some water to make you some of that chamomile and lemongrass tea you like, if you want some,” he said.

After a pause, Bluestreak nodded. He clutched the covers to his neck again. “Maybe it’ll help warm me up,” he said, his teeth chattering.

Smiling slightly, Hound said, “I don’t think you need to get any warmer, but it might help you feel better.” He kissed Bluestreak’s forehead. “I’ll go make the tea and I’ll be right back.”

By the time Hound returned with the tea, Bluestreak was asleep. With a sigh, Hound put the mug on the night stand and gave Bluestreak another kiss. “Feel better soon, bluebird,” he whispered, and quietly shut the door behind him.


	19. Spoiling Each Other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NSFW.** Contains open relationship, mate sharing, group sticky sexual interfacing. Nomad AU.

In the eleven vorn since he had been bonded to Hound, Bluestreak had grown to hate the end of the storm season.

The storm season was no real fun, to be sure, but at least Hound was at home with his tribe, sleeping in his tent and sharing Bluestreak’s blankets. After the storms ended, the tribe traveled from their lands to the base of the sacred Manganese Mountains, where they met with the other plains tribes. The tribal leaders would meet and discuss things like hunting rights, proposed bonds between clans, and relations with tribes from other areas. As the chief of their tribe, Hound would be heavily involved in these discussions. 

But there was also feasting and dancing and trading to celebrate the ending of the storm season, and the return of the game. Bluestreak loved the meeting of the tribes: the good cheer of the dancing and music was hard to resist, and it was their tribe’s main opportunity each vorn to trade for rare items and delicacies. But his good mood was always tainted with dread, since he knew what happened next.

After the celebrations were over, the tribes dispersed to their own lands. Once his tribe returned to their traditional home, Hound would take his hunters and track the game herds. They would hunt until they had enough food to last the tribe through the next storm season.

They were sometimes gone for five or six orbital cycles. Occasionally it was even longer.

Bluestreak led the tribe while the chief and hunters were away. He commanded the warriors who would defend the tribe from enemies, handled the day-to-day decisions, and mediated the disputes that inevitably came up in a group as large as theirs. He stayed busy, and sometimes fell into his blankets at night in a dead recharge. 

But on other nights, his blankets felt cold and empty. Mechs from the tribe sometimes provided Bluestreak with passing comfort on those chilly nights, but it just wasn’t the same. Even sated and still tangled with that night’s partner, he knew there was something missing. Hound was able to give him something that no one else seemed able to match.

* * *

From the first vorn of their bonding, Hound made a habit of giving Bluestreak a gift before he departed for the hunt. The meeting of the tribes was a perfect opportunity to trade for something special, so that first vorn he gave Bluestreak a dozen pillows from the weavers of the western plains.

“I’ve seen how sore you are every morning, and I know you were used to pillows and blankets that were piled much higher than mine,” Hound said when presenting Bluestreak with the pillows. 

It was true. The Praxian tribe loved their pillows. Not just to support their sensor wings when reclining in their blankets, but to use when just relaxing around their tents. Praxian tents were usually stuffed full of luxurious pillows.

Tipping his sensor wings up at a very proper angle, Bluestreak smiled at his newly bonded mate. “Thank you very much,” he said, admiring each pillow in turn. “I’m sure they will make the blankets a lot more comfortable while you’re away.”

The second vorn, Hound gave Bluestreak a container of scented wax. “I heard you complaining that the lustre is fading from your finish,” he said in explanation. Settling down next to Bluestreak in their blankets, he added, “I don’t see it, but I want you to feel as beautiful as you look to me.”

Smiling gratefully, Bluestreak took the wax from Hound. Opening the container, he sniffed at it and exclaimed, “It smells like the sea! How…?” He turned wondering optics on Hound.

Grinning, Hound said, “A trader brought that from the Mithril Sea. I remember you speaking of going there as a youngling. Hopefully that will bring back happy memories for you.”

Bluestreak set aside the wax and hung his arms around Hound’s shoulders. “You’re all the happy memories I need, love,” he said, although the words rang just a little hollow.

Vorn after vorn, Hound always managed to find the perfect gift for Bluestreak to make his absence seem less onerous. A cloak the same shade as Bluestreak’s optics. Candied gypsum, purchased from city mechs. Bangles of gold and copper, just the right shade to complement Bluestreak’s paint. 

And while Bluestreak loved the gifts, and loved the fact that they were physical manifestations of Hound’s love for him, he still dreaded when Hound set him down on the blankets in their tent the night before the hunters left. It meant he was being given another gift, and it meant he would be without Hound again.

* * *

“You’ve been awfully quiet. Is there anything wrong?” Hound asked, settling down on the blankets in their tent. They had just arrived at the meeting of the tribes, and tomorrow the tribal chiefs would begin their discussions.

“No.” Bluestreak looked over at his mate and then let out a long ventilation. “Yes.” He shrugged. “The usual.” He looked away. “I’ll get over it.”

He looked up when Hound scooted closer and gently ran a hand down his face. Hound’s optics were sober. “Every vorn you look more and more despondent when we get to the Mountains,” he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the mountains. He cupped Bluestreak’s helm in his hand and ran a thumb across his cheek. “You knew this was how things were when you agreed to bond with me.”

“I know!” Bluestreak’s sensor wings shot up. Before they bonded, Bluestreak had learned about the migrations of the Monoplex tribe, and his duties while the chief was away on the hunt. None of it had come as a surprise to him. “I am not regretting bonding with you, nor do I wish to disregard or disrespect your... our tribe’s traditions,” he said. He put his hand over Hound’s and turned his helm slightly to brush his lips against Hound’s palm. “It just gets old, being the one left behind every hunting season.”

“I just hate seeing you unhappy,” Hound said. He leaned towards Bluestreak and grazed his lips against his mate’s chevron, drawing a quiet intake of air from Bluestreak. “What can I do?” he asked quietly.

Shaking his helm, Bluestreak said, “I don’t think there’s anything you can do.” He laughed curtly. “Unless you found a way to duplicate yourself so that my blankets don’t feel quite so empty when you’re away.”

Sitting up suddenly, Hound said, “You know I don’t begrudge you bringing someone into our tent while I’m gone. The hunting season is very long.” He narrowed his optics. “And… you do know that I occasionally invite one of my hunters into my blankets while we’re away from the tribe.”

“I know!” Bluestreak looked at Hound then, a smile on his lips. “And that’s fine. I just…” He exvented again, his shoulders falling. “I am the chief’s mate. Even when I invite someone else into our tent, they still treat me like the chief’s mate. I am deferred to. They wait for me to ask for something before doing anything. They don’t…” He took another long vent and grabbed Hound’s hand. “They don’t **take** me the same way you do. And, sometimes…” Bluestreak looked at Hound with optics filled with longing. “Sometimes that’s what I really need.”

Hound’s engine revved, and he smashed his lips against Bluestreak’s possessively. The Praxian gasped, clawing at Hound’s back as he was pressed back into the blankets. “I’ll just have to see what I can do about that,” Hound murmured into Bluestreak’s audial.

With a blissful moan, Bluestreak relaxed back into the pillows and blankets, and let himself be taken.

* * *

The meeting of the tribes would be over in two cycles. After that, the tribes would disperse, and a short time after that, Bluestreak would be alone once again. 

But tonight, Bluestreak danced.

He was a seasoned and well-trained warrior, but he had been taught in the Praxian fashion, where to fight, you danced. Bluestreak had honed his skills over many vorn, learning to fight in the style of the Monoplex tribe, but he never stopped practicing his Praxian forms.

Bluestreak whirled into the dance, feeling the drums resonate deep in his frame. He grasped the hand of a visored dancer as he spun by, and laughed as he was thrown into the arms of another dancer in time to the warbling melody of the flute. Basking in the attention of the audience surrounding the dancers, Bluestreak stretched his frame to its limits. He felt all of the optics on him, roving over his frame, and he danced to show them just how magnificently a true Praxian warrior could move. 

He danced to forget. He danced to impress. He danced to mourn. He danced his joy.

Above him, the sparks from the bonfire rose into the starry night sky.

* * *

Bluestreak stepped carefully, feeling his way with his pedes despite Hound leading him by the arm. But he kept his optics closed as he had promised.

“Where are we going?” he asked, a smile on his lips. He could smell that they were close to the herds of mechanimals, and could not imagine why they were going there.

“Just someplace neutral and private,” Hound said. “I want to present you with my gift.”

Bluestreak stumbled, and Hound caught him before he fell. “My gift? But... You’re not leaving for another orbital cycle,” he said, trying to keep his sudden dismay out of his field. Bluestreak did not want to be reminded of Hound’s relatively imminent departure. Not just yet.

“I want to give you a chance to refuse. And... well, you’ll see,” Hound said evasively.

His dismay giving way to curiosity, Bluestreak quietly followed behind Hound.

Finally, Hound stopped, and turned Bluestreak slightly. With his sensor wings, Bluestreak could feel the large herds of mechanimals, and two other mechs nearby. He guessed that they might be the herders, keeping watch over their charges. 

“You can open your optics,” Hound said. Bluestreak did as he was asked, and looked at Hound questioningly. His mate smiled at him, and grasped his hands. “Bluestreak. I don’t want you to be alone on the long nights that I’m away on the hunt,” he said. He stroked a finger along Bluestreak’s chin. “But I also understand that you have not been able to find the satisfaction you desire among our tribe. So, I wanted to offer you a possible solution... But only if you – and they – both agree.”

With that, Hound gestured behind Bluestreak, and the Praxian turned around. Two mechs stood side by side, one yellow and one red. Brothers, by the look of them. Bluestreak flicked his sensor wings and looked at Hound, confused. “I... What am I agreeing to?”

“These mechs were foundlings. The Polyhex tribe stumbled upon them when they were little more than sparklings, and rescued them from certain death in the wilderness. They’ve been traveling with the tribe ever since.” Hound took Bluestreak’s hands again. “But they’ve wanted to stretch their legs, so to speak, and make their own way in the world. They are interested in traveling with our tribe, at least for the next season.”

The red mech took a step forward, a sly grin on his face. “We saw you dancing last night,” he said. “And...” he glanced at his brother. “We were quite taken with you,” he said, looking back at Bluestreak.

Bluestreak saw no sign of deference in the red mech’s optics.

“I saw them staring at you as you danced,” Hound said, his optics glinting with humour. “When I asked them if they liked what they were seeing, they said you were the most impressive dancer in the ring.” He grinned at the two mechs. “I suggested that you would likely be just as amazing an acrobat in the blankets. They agreed that would be likely. I asked if they would be interested in finding out.” He tilted his helm back towards Bluestreak. “They agreed rather enthusiastically.”

“We didn’t know you were a chief’s mate,” the yellow mech said, his expression serious. “And we didn’t know if was your mate who...” He looked at Hound, his optics slightly narrowed.

Bluestreak folded his arms across his chest. “You didn’t know it was my mate who was suggesting you see if he was right?” he asked, tilting his helm to the side.

The two mechs nodded their helms in unison.

Hound held up his hand and smiled at Bluestreak. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything. But they were interested, even after I told them who you are,” he said, shooting another amused look at the two mechs. “And,” he added, his voice dropping low enough that the other two could not hear him, “I know they’re your type.”

Looking at the two mechs appraisingly, Bluestreak had to admit that Hound was right. He did have a type, and they were it: boxy, large, well-built, and strong. Just the type who would be more than capable of pinning him to the ground and...

Bluestreak levelled a look at Hound, then directed it at the yellow and red mechs. He took a step towards them. “I admit,” he said slowly, “that my blankets are often cold and empty during the hunting season, and I freely welcome willing mechs into my tent for comfort and companionship.” He raised his sensor wings, displaying his rank markings clearly. “But even though I am the chief’s mate, sometimes I need to feel like just another mech... Just someone who needs to feel wanted.” He lowered his wings again and softened his tone. “Not someone who is to be obeyed and deferred to.”

The two mechs glanced at each other, and the red one grinned again. “I don’t think that will be too much of a problem.”

The yellow mech lifted his chin defiantly. “And we’re strong warriors. Even if you find us unsuitable, we’d be happy to travel with your tribe for at least a season. We want to see more of the world.”

Hound smiled at his mate. “Are you interested in what I have found for you, love?” he asked, reaching out to touch his cheek. “I know it’s a little different from the gifts I normally give you.”

“Yes.” Bluestreak regarded the two mechs for a moment, then looked back to Hound with a smile. “I’m interested.”

* * *

Bluestreak collapsed onto the yellow mech underneath him, his fans running hot. Between his legs, the red mech smoothed his hand over Bluestreak’s leg struts and kissed his inner thigh. The brothers’ ventilation systems ran even louder than Bluestreak’s.

“That... was extremely satisfying,” Bluestreak said once his cooling systems had caught up slightly. He rolled off of Sunstreaker and curled up against him. Sideswipe crawled up to press himself against Bluestreak’s other side, effectively pinning the chief’s mate between the brothers. 

Sunstreaker pressed his lips to Bluestreak’s helm and said, “Glad to hear it. I’d hate for us to be the first gift you refused.”

The Praxian laughed, then hummed as Sideswipe nibbled along his chin. “I am definitely not refusing you. In fact, I think you’re already the most favourite gift I’ve received.” 

“You hear that, Sunny?” Sideswipe asked, lifting his helm to look at his brother. “I think that means we get to stay.”

Bluestreak revved his engine slightly, drawing the brothers’ attentions back to him. However, his own attention was on the green mech who sat to the side, a wide smile on his face and his pressurized spike in his hand. “I think I’d like to keep them. For now, at least,” Bluestreak said, smiling at his mate. He reached out a hand. “Come here, love, and let me thank you properly.”

Hound’s grin grew larger as he crawled across the blankets and pillows towards the sound of three purring engines.


	20. Shopping Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place before and after [Chapter 13: In a Fairy Tale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468/chapters/28976529).

**Before _In a Fairy Tale_**

Bluestreak walked calmly but purposefully through the bustling market, past vendors selling hung braces of robochickens, piles of replacement armor, glass containers of waxes, and pots of touch-up paints. He held his door wings high across his shoulders, mostly to keep them from being bumped unexpectedly, but also to stay alert for any trouble heading his way. 

He wasn’t expecting any trouble, since he’d only just arrived in the Kingdom. He hoped that he’d left his trail of troubles behind him, and he hadn’t had any time to produce new trouble for himself here.

He filtered through the rows of stalls and tables, glancing from side to side, until his gaze landed on the rather non-descript grey tent that he’d been looking for. An old mech with a faded finish hovered over a large selection of tiny jars, each filled with flavouring chips and liquids.

“Spices for your fuel! Flavourings from afar! Treat yourself to the delicate taste of Tyger Paxian fuel, or surprise your friends with treats from Rodion! Spices for your fuel!” the ancient mech called to the shoppers who passed his tent.

Bluestreak stopped at the old mech’s table and looked down at his wares. “Hello, old timer,” he said, smiling and tipping his door wings towards the mech. “How is business today?”

“Oh, can’t complain,” the vendor replied, examining Bluestreak with bright optics. He looked with interest at the Praxian’s door wings. “Can I interest you in some fluorite crystals? They’re fresh from the fields of Praxus, and pack quite a sharp flavour. They might remind you of home.”

“I’m actually interested in some of your more specialized offerings,” Bluestreak said, lowering his voice slightly. He opened his hand and flashed a handful of shanix before tucking it back into his compartments.

The old mech glanced around furtively before gesturing to Bluestreak. “Come in, around the table. Let me show you some of my more exotic goods,” he said, shuffling towards the back of the tent.

Inside the old mech’s tent, the sounds of the market were slightly muted. The tent was small, and Bluestreak had to duck slightly. The vendor looked him over again, all trace of his advanced age evaporating. “What exactly are you looking for, friend?”

“Specifically, something to immobilize or place a mech into recharge quickly, and some kind of assistance for stealth. Invisibility if you have it… If not, something like distraction would work as well.”

The vendor harrumphed and opened a chest. Digging through it, he said, “Recharge is easy enough. Invisibility… that will cost you, and I do not have any right now.” 

Bluestreak frowned. “I can’t wait. I need it now.”

“Then I can only offer you what I have.” The old mech pulled out three small bags from the chest, all three wound with wire. “Mundanity will make optics and sensors slide right over you. If you do something unusual they may still notice you, but if you’re just standing or walking normally they won’t make note of your presence. It should serve your purpose. And recharge works as expected.” He held the bags up. “Anything else?”

With a smile Bluestreak said, “No, that should do it. How much?”

Weighing two of the bags in his hand, the vendor said, “Seventy-five shanix.” Holding up the third bag, he added, “Unless you’d also like me to include some infatuation as well? I could give you a deal.”

“No need.” Bluestreak counted out the shanix for the vendor, and took the two small bags the vendor handed him. “I don’t have any need for assistance with that,” he said simply, with no hint of boasting. He quickly tucked the bags into his compartments.

With a chuckle, the old vendor looked Bluestreak over once again. “I can imagine. If only I was a little less rusty…” 

“Thank you for the spices,” Bluestreak said in a slightly louder voice. “I’m sure they will be more than suitable.” He fanned his fingers in a wave at the vendor and then he turned, ducking out of the tent and vanishing into the flow of the market.

* * *

**After _In a Fairy Tale_**

Bluestreak strode purposefully through the market crowds, plowing his way through them with spread door wings. He half-dragged, half-pulled a cloaked figure alongside him, his hand firmly gripping the other mech’s elbow.

He walked directly up to the small grey tent and pointed a finger at the old vendor behind the table. “You sold me the wrong goods,” he hissed, jerking the cloaked mech to a stop beside him.

The vendor bent slightly to look under the hood of the cloak. A green mech stared out at him with wide optics. The deep hood did a fairly good job of concealing the gag had been shoved into his mouth. The mech’s hands were suspiciously held front of him with a scrap of cloth wrapped around them. The vendor straightened and gazed at Bluestreak with calm optics. “Is there a problem, friend?”

“I asked for recharge powder, and you gave me that infatuation powder you were trying to sell me instead,” Bluestreak hissed. “Now this poor mech won’t leave me alone!”

His optics widening, the ancient mech held up his hands and said, “I’m afraid you have the wrong merchant, friend. I only sell exotic spices and flavourings from faraway lands.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Only the King’s own alchemists are permitted to make and sell charms like you describe.” 

His door wings flaring in fury, Bluestreak growled, “I used the powder you sold me! I demand my money back, and I need some way to fix this!” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the cloaked mech.

Calmly straightening the bottles on his table, the vendor said, “And using illegally purchased charms will also get you into trouble with the King’s Guard, should they find out.”

Bluestreak lowered his voice and snapped, “I am fully aware of that. And this mech is a King’s Ranger!” He jerked the cloaked mech’s elbow in emphasis.

With a guileless smile, the vendor said, “Well then, you’re in a heap of scrap, aren’t you?” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Please, move along. You are blocking my spices from being seen.”

Bluestreak stared at the old mech in disbelief, his door wings trembling in barely contained rage. After a long klik he exvented slowly. No matter how much he wanted to kick over this old fool’s stand and beat him, doing so would not help him in the least. In fact, it would draw attention to him, and that was the last thing he needed right now. Realizing that he needed to find another way out of this, Bluestreak turned to leave. “Come on,” he muttered, yanking on the cloaked mech’s arm.

“Oh! One thing, friend,” the old vendor called. When Bluestreak turned to glare at him, the vendor gave him a small smile and said, “I’ve heard... Just mechs talking, you know... That an infatuation charm only lasts a joor or so. No counter-charm is needed because it wears off so quickly.” His optics flicked to the cloaked mech, then back to Bluestreak. “Something to look into, perhaps?” He turned to greet a customer who had just walked up to his table. “Spices for your fuel! Can I interest you in the freshest calcite crystals from Vos?”

Bluestreak turned and stared at the cloaked mech. It had been more than eight joors since he’d thrown the dust into the Ranger’s face. If the effect wore off in only one joor...

He peered into the cloak’s hood, and met Hound’s wide optics. The mech grunted something through the gag, and nodded frantically.

Staring at the green mech, Bluestreak felt cold realization wash over him like a frozen methane storm. He’d been dragging a gagged, bound, and fully aware King’s Ranger around with him for almost a full cycle.

Bluestreak was in a heap of scrap, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of explanation... I originally didn’t intend to expand on the In a Fairy Tale prompt at all, but then I had two commenters (Menial and SunnySidesofBlue) ask me about it. I was thinking about it on the way home, when suddenly the bunnies presented me with an idea for this prompt, “Shopping,” that also acted as a continuation for In a Fairy Tale. Cool!
> 
> But then I started writing it, and suddenly there was a big long backstory for Bluestreak and a reaction from Hound for being drugged and then basically kidnapped, and in a very short amount of time I had 2500 words down and no sign of any end to it. 
> 
> Soooo I trimmed it back down to what you’ve read here, and I am placing this idea in my queue to work on as a standalone story. There are some plot issues I need to work through, but you’ll likely be seeing a continuation of this story/AU at a future date. :)
> 
> TL;DR: Sorry about the cliff-hanger.


	21. Bringing Flowers for the Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during [The Ghost of the Howling Plains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156300/chapters/27586335), but you don't have to read that to understand this.

The red and grey mech’s uncharacteristic silence bothered Jazz. He stole a glance at Bluestreak’s face, and saw that his one working optic was dim and unfocused. It seemed like he was only online enough to put one pede in front of the other.

Jazz decided he needed to get Bluestreak talking one way or the other. “Blue, tell me a story.”

Bluestreak’s optic brightened slightly as he glanced at Jazz. “What kind of a story?”

Jazz shrugged, careful not to dislodge Bluestreak’s hand where it rested on his shoulder for support. “Anythin’ you want. Tell me somethin’ about you and Hound. A funny story or somethin’ from when you were first getting’ together, maybe.” He smiled. “You can probably just assume that I don’t remember whatever you want to tell me.”

A moment passed while Bluestreak thought, then he also smiled. “Something from when we were first seeing each other? All right. So when we were first getting together, it was sort of casual. You know how it was. Err, maybe you don’t?” Bluestreak glanced at Jazz. “Mechs paired up and traded around almost every day on the Ark, mostly because we were just trying to stave off boredom. There were a few set couples though, like you and Prowl, but I hadn’t really thought of Hound like that.”

Jazz nodded as Bluestreak started to talk, encouraging the other mech to keep going. This was exactly what he was aiming for: keep the gunner awake and talking. Jazz was still concerned about the large dent on Bluestreak’s helm; every time Bluestreak lapsed into silence Jazz couldn’t help but worry.

“Anyway, we saw each other every few cycles, mostly because our shifts didn’t match up well. One day, I was just going out on watch when Hound was coming back from patrol. He was carrying something in his hand, cradling it like it was some piece of delicate crystal. I was curious about it, so I asked him what it was.

“He stopped and showed me an orange flower. He said he’d seen a bunch of them at the side of the road. A huge swath of them, he’d said. Swath. I remember he used the word swath. Anyway, he looked them up and found out they’re a type of flower that blooms in the morning, then fades in the evening, and then it’s done. They only last a day! But each plant might produce twenty or thirty of the flowers over the season.

“Even though he knew it wouldn’t last long, he picked one flower to bring back to the Ark, mostly to show to Beachcomber, and that’s what he showed me. It looked so fragile, but also beautiful. Hound explained how they were the reproductive parts of the plant, and we laughed at how funny life on Earth was: plants put their reproductive organs out where anyone could see and touch them, and humans hid them behind clothing and doors.

“I said that I thought it was beautiful, and thanked him for showing it to me. I didn’t think much about it for a few days.”

Bluestreak stumbled slightly, and Jazz paused to make sure the Praxian had his balance before continuing. Bluestreak nodded at Jazz and started walking again, continuing his story.

“Anyway, a few days later, I came back from patrol and found a bundle of flowers taped to the wall just outside my quarters. There was a note shoved into the flowers with my name on it. It was from Hound, and the note said that he remembered I liked the flower he’d brought to the Ark before, and he’d seen some more and thought of me.

“I think it was a bundle… Oh, I just remembered that Spike told me that a bundle of flowers was actually called a bouquet (what a strange word)… I think it was a bouquet of wildflowers. There were round blue ones and spikes with white flowers running up them and purple flowers with yellow centers. It was gorgeous.

“I pulled the flowers off the wall and went looking for Hound. I found him in the rec room, and thanked him. Hmm. Thinking about it now, I think I might have embarrassed him? He got all quiet and kept looking away.” Bluestreak laughed. “I’ll have to ask him about it when I see him.” His laugh suddenly cut out and his uninjured door wing sagged.

“We’ll see ‘em again soon, Blue,” Jazz said. He gathered as much confidence as he could muster and poured it into his field. “Don’t worry. I got you into this, and I swear I’ll get us out, too.”

Bluestreak let a small smile light his face. “It’s fine. I just miss him.”

“I know.” Jazz did know; he was missing Prowl more intensely with every passing groon. After a moment of silence, he pressed, “So, Hound got you the flowers? And?”

“Well, then every other week or so more flowers would show up. I think he starting asking Sparkplug to actually buy flowers for him, because some of these definitely were not wildflowers… Not any wildflowers that grew around the Ark, anyway. Large red flowers that looked like clouds, and white flowers that looked like huge cups, and yellow flowers that looked like waterfalls, and… Well, lots. And I loved them. I used an empty energon cube – it was just the right size – and filled it with water to put them in, and they’d last for a week or so. I was rooming with Mirage at the time, and he thought it was sort of gross, bringing these reproductive organs into our quarters just to let them die, but I explained that humans did it all the time because they were pretty. And I also thought they were pretty.” Bluestreak chuckled again. “He made me promise to keep them on my side of the room.

“Then one day Hound and I were both off duty, and he said there was something out in the desert that he wanted to show me. He wouldn’t tell me what it was, but I was curious, so I followed him out to the desert. We came over a rise and…”

Bluestreak paused, and Jazz looked up at him. The gunner’s one optic was unfocused, and Jazz stopped in alarm, thinking that Bluestreak had crashed again. But after a moment, Bluestreak looked down at him and smiled. “It was beautiful,” he said, his voice full of awe. “I can’t even properly describe it. There were flowers everywhere, in all sorts of colours. They looked like someone had made a blanket of flowers and just laid it over the desert floor.

“Hound said it was something that only happened once in a while, when the area got enough rain to bring the plants out of dormancy. He said that it didn’t last long, and he wanted to make sure I saw it while it was happening.” Bluestreak smiled at the memory. “I was so glad he did. We spent all day there, just sitting in the flowers, enjoying the view.”

Bluestreak paused again. “I think that’s when I realized that Hound was someone I might want to get to know better. He felt like someone who meant more to me than just a mech I ‘faced occasionally,” he said. He looked down at Jazz. “And that’s my story. The end.”

Grinning at Bluestreak, Jazz said, “That was great, Blue. And yeah, I didn’t remember any of that.” He let a tiny bit of regret seep into his field and tone, and added, “I wish I could’ve seen all those flowers in the desert.”

Bluestreak’s pace slowed. “I think I’m about due for a rest. My wing is really starting to bother me again. If you want, while we’re resting, you can patch in and I can show you my memory of the flowers.” 

Nodding, Jazz said, “Sure. Thanks, Blue. I think I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a partially-written scene that I ended up cutting from The Ghost of the Howling Plains, but I kept the bits and found a use for them here. :)
> 
> (Also, if you've read Ghost, you'll notice that I left out Bluestreak's speech impediment... Yeah, I'm not doing that to myself or my readers again. :P )


	22. Competing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains public plug-and-play interfacing.
> 
> Inspired by [this prompt from @maccadams-filthy-fills](https://maccadams-filthy-fills.tumblr.com/post/166856264754/pnp-public-play-two-bots-are-discreetly-plugged).

Hound and Bluestreak were curled up on one of the couches in the rec room, watching the last few minutes of the evening news, when Bluestreak ran a finger across Hound’s interface port.

Startled by the touch, Hound flinched and looked at Bluestreak. “Hey! Careful there,” Hound whispered.

The Praxian had a predatory grin on his face and kept his optics locked on Hound’s as he deliberately stroked the tip of a finger over Hound’s hip port again. “That thing we were talking about... How about now?” Bluestreak murmured back.

“Here?” Hound stared at Bluestreak. “Now?”

Bluestreak nodded, his grin only growing larger. His field swirled with anticipation.

Hound raised an optical ridge, then glanced around the room. It was relatively empty at the moment, with only a few mechs were sitting at a table near the energon dispenser. But _Knight Rider_ was about to come on. They’d soon be joined by a handful of other mechs who would inevitably sit near them.

Hound and Bluestreak had discussed interfacing in public, and they were both excited about the idea. Hound just hadn’t thought of the rec room as one of those public areas. Hound looked around the room again, and tried to picture it filled with other mechs while he was plugged into Bluestreak.

He shivered at the little rush of charge the image gave him.

“We are in deep slag if we get caught,” Hound whispered to Bluestreak.

“Then we just have to not get caught,” Bluestreak replied, and Hound felt Bluestreak rake the tip of his interface cord across Hound’s port. Hound hissed slightly at the crackle of electricity that flickered between them. Bluestreak’s optics grew brighter. “Just tell me no, and I’ll stop,” Bluestreak murmured.

After a moment more of hesitation, Hound pulled his own cord free from its housing and slid it into Bluestreak’s port. Flashing Hound a bright smile, Bluestreak clicked his own cord into place in Hound’s port, and their processors completed the connection. “If anyone asks, this was your idea,” Hound said.

Bluestreak replied over the hardline. [[Of course it was my idea.]] Bluestreak smiled and snuggled himself tightly against Hound’s side, concealing their cables from any casual glances. [[But just don’t get caught, right? You’ll just have to stay quiet when you overload.]] 

[[What makes you think I’ll be the first one to overload?]] Hound sent the challenge along with a memory of Bluestreak splayed out under him, helm rocked back in ecstasy and door wings pressed against the berth.

Bluestreak laughed quietly. [[Because. Of course you will.]] He replied with an image of Hound bowed in half, electricity crackling along his frame.

[[You’re on.]] Hound grinned. The two mechs locked optics and let their latent charge swirl between their processors. Then Bluestreak sent another burst of data across the connection, this one just pure sensation, and Hound stiffened.

“Hey guys!” Sideswipe vaulted over the back of the couch they were sitting on, and collapsed back into the cushions next to Bluestreak. “You got here early to nab the best seats, huh?”

“Hound likes watching the news,” Bluestreak said, giving Hound a chance to recover from the data he’d sent. “And Prowl said it’s not a bad idea for us to keep up on what the humans find important.”

“Boring.” Sideswipe rolled his optics, then looked up as Sunstreaker sat on the chair next to the couch. “Hey Sunny, go turn it up! It’s about to start.”

“Don’t call me Sunny. And you go turn it up,” Sunstreaker said.

A few more mechs trickled into the room and found seats as the show started. Hound kept his optics on the screen, and let the packets of data flow gently between his processor and Bluestreak’s. It felt nice, cuddled together with Bluestreak like this, intimately sharing their own impressions of the show as it was happening. Hound thought it felt a little like a massage for his processor: gentle and pleasurable.

Then, on the screen, the black car tore around a corner to start a chase scene, and Bluestreak straightened, his attention riveted by the action.

Hound’s processor was suddenly assaulted by Bluestreak sending him how it would feel to drive like that. Hound’s and Bluestreak’s frames were very different, but in that moment Hound felt what it was like to have the road screaming by under your tires, the burn of friction as you drifted through the turns, and the wind howling over your roof as you barreled down the highway. 

Just barely suppressing a whimper, Hound sent an answering burst of sensation back to Bluestreak. Bumping down a rough mountain road, water splashing your undercarriage in a shallow stream, and the viscous feel of mud coating your plating as you tore through a waterlogged field. He felt Bluestreak twitch next to him. When the Praxian turned to look at him, Hound sent a questioning pulse through the hardline. [[You sure you can handle this?]]

Bluestreak smiled and grabbed Hound’s hand. [[It’s you I’m concerned with. I promise I’ll be gentle.]] He smiled innocently, and sent another burst of raw driving sensation through their connection. Hound clung to Bluestreak’s hand as he rode out the burst.

Slag. Bluestreak was going to be the end of him.

The show continued, and Hound and Bluestreak traded sensations and memories back and forth, their charge mutually growing. Hound sent Bluestreak the memory of the Praxian raking his dentae up the inside of Hound’s thigh and his fingers digging into his wheel wells, and Bluestreak shuddered. Bluestreak shot back with the raw sensation of Hound’s glossa tracing designs on the back of his door wings, sending jolts of charge through his frame, and Hound felt a cascade of static flow through his wires. He quickly offlined his vocalizer to stop the moan from escaping his lips. On the couch, they clung to each other, their joints locked in place to keep themselves from quaking.

During one commercial break, Hound saw Jazz throw a curious look at them. Hound gave the TIC a smile. Nothing to see. Just two mechs cuddling together on the couch. As Jazz’s gaze drifted away from them, Bluestreak released a long vent of heated air as he tried to keep his core temperature under control.

[[Still doing ok?]] Hound rubbed the back of Bluestreak’s hand and looked at the Praxian appraisingly.

Bluestreak smiled. [[I’m fine. Just keep it quiet, right?]] 

Hound could feel the heat radiating from Bluestreak, and realized the Praxian had overridden his fans in his quest for silence. [[Don’t burn out a breaker unit, Blue. If we gotta step out, we can.]]

Turning back to the television as the show returned from the commercials, Bluestreak’s smile grew. [[It’s not me who’s gonna break, pup.]]

Praxians. A stubborn bunch, the lot of them.

It was during the final, climatic chase scene that things came to a head. KITT had just blocked the villain from escaping when Bluestreak assailed Hound’s processors with the feeling of being pinned to a berth, his lover’s hot vented air blowing across his frame as his circuits were overloading... And Hound tipped over the edge.

His frame control lost, Hound spasmed, his hands clutching at Bluestreak’s arm. In a nanoklik Hound knew that as his overload crested, every mech in the room would know what they were doing. He knew his optics would white out, and a keen would escape his vocalizer, and everyone would know. The thought of every mech turning to look at him as he climaxed right here on the couch in the rec room added to the charge... And he surrendered. 

He was slagged.

But in that instant Bluestreak’s processor surged forward, tendrils of his awareness slipping into the threads of fire that were building to an explosion in Hound’s circuits. He wrapped Hound’s personality and consciousness in a hug of his own programming, superimposing his will and his tenacity over Hound’s, and he soaked half of the overload just as it peaked.

Hound invented sharply as he felt Bluestreak throw himself over the grenade that was Hound’s overload, but he gritted his dentae and was able to keep silent. The charge ricocheted between their processors until it dissipated, leaving them both strutless and gently quivering, but silent.

Almost silent.

Sideswipe glanced at Bluestreak just as the show ended and the credits began to roll. “You all right, Blue?” he asked. He frowned. “Your fans just kicked on.”

Hound tensed. A moment ago Bluestreak had been in the throes of his overload, and Hound knew that he wouldn’t be able to say anything but static for another klik. [[Blue, you don’t have to -]]

“That was a pretty great finish to the show, wasn’t it?” Bluestreak smiled brightly at Sideswipe, his vocalizer clear and steady. Hound gaped silently at his lover as he chatted normally. “I didn’t think they were going to be able to get there in time, but then KITT was able to turbo boost his way over the bridge. That was great!” He shrugged. “I guess I just got a little excited at the end, that’s all.”

Sideswipe nodded. “Yeah. Although they totally overuse that turbo boost gimmick.” 

Sunstreaker frowned at his brother. “It’s not a gimmick. It’s one of his main combat techniques. That’s like saying our jet judo is a gimmick.”

As the twins bickered, Jazz got up and stretched. He looked again at Hound and Bluestreak with a suspicious expression on his face. He walked past them, but circled behind the couch and leaned down to stick his helm between theirs. “As an officer, I should probably remind you about the rule against public interfacing,” he said, quietly enough that no one else could hear. “It’s one thing to keep yourselves quiet and still, but there’s not a lot you can do about the scent of ozone.”

Hound cranked his helm around and stared at Jazz, his optics wide. [[Slag. I forgot he’s got olfactory sensors almost as good as mine...]]

Bluestreak sent a quick burst of soothing calm over the hardline, and said with a straight face, “You must be smelling something from earlier.” He flashed an innocent smile at Jazz. “We interfaced right before coming here.” 

Jazz stared at Bluestreak for a moment before shaking his helm and smiling. “You’re just as bad as Prowl,” he said. “Speaking of which...” He stood up. “You guys reminded me of something I wanted to do tonight.” He twirled on a pede and made for the door.

Hound relaxed back into the couch cushions, then looked at Bluestreak wonderingly. [[How the frag do you manage to talk your way out of these things? You’re so smooth with everything.]]

[[Sometimes it’s a benefit to be looked at as someone who’s a little naive.]] Bluestreak nuzzled Hound’s cheek, and used his motion to hide his hand slipping between them to disconnect their interface cables. 

When they were disconnected, Bluestreak pulled back to look Hound in the optics and said with a smile, “Oh... By the way, I win.”


	23. Being Old Together

Hound woke from recharge. He felt cold. The berth next to him was empty.

He swung his legs over the side of the berth and walked slowly out of the berthroom into the living area. At the large window overlooking the city, Hound saw Bluestreak silhouetted against the city lights of Iacon.

“Blue?” he asked, walking up behind him. “Are you all right?”

Bluestreak turned slightly at Hound’s voice, then looked back out the window. He had his arms crossed under his front bumper, and his optics glowed dimly in the dark room. “I’m fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just couldn’t recharge.”

Hound stood next to Bluestreak and folded him into his arms. Bluestreak leaned into Hound, resting his helm against the green mech’s shoulder. “Are you thinking about what the medics said?” Hound asked.

“Yeah.” Bluestreak let out a long vent of air. “I should be happy, right?” He laughed mirthlessly. “It only took six million years, but I’m finally not broken anymore.”

Kissing the top of Bluestreak’s helm, Hound said, “I never thought of you as broken.” He searched his memories, going back millions of years, to the first time he remembered meeting the shell-shocked Praxian survivor. “Damaged, maybe. But never broken. You were too strong for that.”

Bluestreak stared out at the city in silence for a long moment. “I feel like I still remember everything, Hound. I feel like I can remember the smoke, and the heat, and the screams. But it’s like I’m seeing it through blurred glass. I know there’s something awful that I saw, but I can’t remember it clearly... And...”

Tightening his arms around Bluestreak, Hound murmured, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Standing up suddenly, Bluestreak turned and faced Hound. His optics brightened, and his expression became intense. “But that’s just it, Hound. A few million years ago, talking about this would have sent me into a tailspin that would have taken me days to recover from. I’d shake just thinking about it. Now...” He wrapped his arms around Hound and buried his face in the green mech’s neck. “I feel a bit sad. And… that’s it. That’s all. Nothing more.”

Smoothing a hand down Bluestreak’s back, Hound said, “The medics said it’s natural. It’s information creep. As you have new experiences, the older memories get less detailed. It happens to everyone.”

“But...” Bluestreak’s vocalizer crackled slightly. “Who is left to remember the details? A handful of Praxians? Some of the archivists? The rest is just a footnote in history lessons. Praxus was just one of the cities destroyed in the war.” He pulled away from Hound and looked out the window again, wrapping his arms around his own frame. “I’m the last one who was there to see what happened. I was the last one to actually hear and experience what happened to the millions who died at Praxus. It was up to me to remember them.” He pulled away from Hound again and frowned out at the city. “And now... I’m losing that. I’m losing them.”

“Oh, Blue.” Hound put a hand on Bluestreak’s arm, and when he didn’t resist, pulled him back in to another embrace. “I know you feel like you’re letting them down. But... You’re also finally letting them go. You carried them with you for so long. I know how much those memories hurt you. I know what they did to you.” He brushed his lips across Bluestreak’s cheek. “The ghosts of your past are finally fading.”

“They may have haunted me, but they were also part of me.” Bluestreak frowned. “I don’t know who I’ll be without them.”

“You’ll be my Blue.” Hound put a hand on Bluestreak’s cheek to turn his helm. When Bluestreak was looking at him, Hound said firmly, “You will always be my Blue.”

Bluestreak’s lips twitched up into a half smile. “You’re sappy.”

“And I will always be sappy for you,” Hound said. “Now... Come back to recharge?”

After a moment, Bluestreak nodded. “Sure.” As they walked to the berthroom arm in arm, he added, “Don’t ever let me forget you.”

Hound smiled at his lover. “I won’t.”


	24. Dealing with Children

Bluestreak revved his engine impatiently. ::What’s the hold up? Why isn’t traffic moving?::

::I don’t know. I scanned the radio frequencies used by the park rangers, and didn’t hear of any problems. I’m sure it’ll start moving soon.:: Hound’s tone was calm, and Bluestreak settled on his tires for a minute.

Finally, traffic crawled forward a few hundred feet. Then it came to a stop again. ::Oh, come on!:: Bluestreak was indignant. ::Can’t we just go around?::

::No. It’s a double yellow line. It would be illegal to go around.::

::I meant off-road. If it gets too rough I could just switch to root mode and walk.::

::Prowl wanted us to stay inconspicuous. The two of us driving off the side of this cliff in front of all of these tourists is the opposite of inconspicuous.:: Hound was unflappable.

::But Hound! We’re gonna be late for the rendezvous. And if we’re late for that, we'll be late getting back to the Ark. And if we're late getting back to the Ark, we’re gonna miss _Airwolf!_ :: Bluestreak tagged the message with a glyph of sadness.

Hound sent back a glyph of comfort, but was unmoved. ::If you really want to risk Prowl’s anger because you’re afraid of missing a television show, go right ahead. I’m gonna wait.:: The traffic started moving again. ::There. See? We’ll get there eventually.::

Bluestreak silently admitted that Hound was probably right to just follow the laws and stay on the road. The Icefields Parkway was narrow, had cliffs on either side, and was filled with blind turns. Tourists filled the road with station wagons, motorcycles and RVs, and hardly anyone was paying close attention to where they were going. It was common to see vehicles swerving as the drivers ogled the spectacular scenery.

As if a plug had been removed from a drain, the traffic began moving at almost the speed limit. Bluestreak kept his sensors on the road but also scanned around him, admiring the view. Snow-capped mountains towered around them, and down the cliff to their right a river meandered its way through a glacial outflow plain.

Then, Hound slowed down once more. ::Oh, come on!:: Bluestreak swerved back and forth in the single lane behind Hound. ::What now? Why are you slowing down? There’s no one in front of you.::

Hound’s tone was filled with excitement. ::Look, Blue! Goats!::

Bluestreak extended his sensors to look past Hound, and saw a few dozen small white creatures on the road in front of the Jeep. ::Those are goats? But they white and fluffy. Aren’t they sheep?::

::No, these are mountain goats.:: He crawled forward towards the animals in the road. ::Oooh, and they have younglings!::

That got Bluestreak’s attention. ::Where?:: 

Hound pinged Bluestreak an orientation, and he saw little miniature versions of the adults bouncing around on the road. ::They’re so tiny!:: 

::We have to wait for them to move. I’m afraid of hitting one.:: Hound crawled forward another few feet and stopped. ::And they’re coming towards us!:: Hound’s excitement bled through the comm line.

Suddenly Bluestreak found himself surrounded by little white fuzzy goat younglings. ::Hound! They’re all around me! ...What do I do??::

Hound only sent a glyph of amusement. When Bluestreak urgently pinged him again, he relented. ::Just don’t move. They only want to check you out. They like to lick road salt off vehicles. They should lose interest once they figure out you don’t have any.:: He paused thoughtfully. ::They usually don’t allow the younglings to get this close to vehicles. I wonder if they can sense something different about us.::

Bluestreak watched, entranced, as the tiny white younglings bounced up to him, followed by two adults. Three broke away from the main group and walked right up to him, necks stretched as they sniffed at him.

Then... One of them leapt onto his hood.

::Hound!:: The young goat bounced, its hooves clattering on his plating. Another youngling jumped up behind it. Soon there were three tiny goats jumping around on his hood and roof. ::It’s on me! What do I do??::

::Just stay still. They aren’t hurting you, are they?::

Bluestreak was frozen in place. He didn’t think he could move even if he wanted to. ::No. It just tickles.::

They were so fluffy and bouncy and cute. Bluestreak took hundreds of image captures. The other Autobots were not going to believe this. 

The herd parted and went around them, and finally the kids hopped off Bluestreak and joined the adults. ::All clear ahead. You good to go, Blue? We should be able to make it to the rendezvous on schedule, even with the time we’ve lost.::

::Yeah.:: Bluestreak followed along behind Hound again, lost on his thoughts. ::Hound... Are there mountain goats that live near the Ark?::

::Up in the mountains, sure. I’ve seen them up there. Why?::

::Can you take me up there sometime soon? To see more? They were so cute.::

Hound sent a glyph of amusement. ::Absolutely. And wait until you see the baby big horn sheep.::

When they reached the rendezvous point, it look a long time for anyone else to decipher why Bluestreak kept going on about the kids that jumped all over him, and how he wanted Hound to take him to see more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get it? Kids? 
> 
> [Poor Bluestreak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyI_kj7YjOc).
> 
> Also, if you've never been, driving the [Icefields Parkway](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alberta_Highway_93) in the Canadian Rockies is something you might want to add to your bucket list. I've been several times and it's always awe-inspiring. I pictured this story taking place somewhere [around here](https://goo.gl/maps/byTTLu5NTVC2) (Google Streetview Link) because that's where we always see mountain goats. :)


	25. Trying to Seduce One Another (Or: Five Times Bluestreak and Hound Tried to Interface, and the Time They Finally Did)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after [Chapter 17: Washing Something](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468/chapters/29073009).

While the Ark itself was a large ship, much of it was buried and unusable inside the mountain. Over time, the Autobots had slowly enlarged the living space available to them, but there was still not a lot of space for so many mechs.

Finding time and space to be alone with someone for any length of time was, at best, an exercise in luck.

* * *

Slag. The mech’s hands were amazing, but it was what he could do with his lips that left Hound strutless.

Hound was just beginning to understand why so many mechs had been giving him thumbs up and jealous looks after he and Bluestreak had officially become an item, when the door to his quarters beeped and slid open.

His fans running at full speed, Hound lurched to a sitting position. He awkwardly knocked Bluestreak to the side, and they both stared at the large black mech who slowly walked through the doorway.

“Room lights, 50%,” Trailbreaker said, and shuffled into the room a few steps before catching sight of the two mechs tangled together on Hound’s berth. “Oh!” He stared at the two of them as they adjusted their optics to the sudden light, taking in their position and the roar of cooling fans. “Oh!” he said again. “Um...”

“Hi, Trailbreaker,” Hound said, casually sliding his interface ports closed again and pulling all of his limbs back to himself. “I didn’t think you were getting out of med bay today.”

“Yeah, Ratchet said that I could heal up just as well in my own berth as in the med bay, so he kicked me out.” He limped towards his own berth and sat on it heavily. “Sorry... I would have commed you if I’d... That is, if...”

“It’s all right, Trailbreaker,” Bluestreak said, his door wings waving gently behind him. “It’s your room, too, and you just got out of med bay.” Bluestreak glanced at Hound, and the green mech could feel a slight bite of disappointment in the red and silver mech’s field. “Did you want me to go?”

“No. Unless you want to.” Trailbreaker still looked uncertain, but had relaxed a bit at Bluestreak’s words. “I was just going to watch _Hillstreet Blues_ on our little set in here... No one ever wants to watch it in the rec room with me.”

Bluestreak looked at Hound, who shrugged. “Sure. I’ve never watched it. What’s it about?” Bluestreak asked. 

Hound exvented quietly and settled in to watch the show.

* * *

Trying to sync both their schedules and finding times when one of their roommates was not around seemed almost impossible. Bluestreak had the idea to hide themselves away in one of the shuttles in the hanger. The Ark had one working shuttle, and several others that were too damaged to fly.

“They’re just being used for parts. I know they’ve been trying to build one more working shuttle, but they need to take apart the more damaged ones to get enough parts to fix the one they’re working on.” Bluestreak ducked into the entrance of the shuttle on the far end of the hanger. He pushed aside a control panel that dangled from the ceiling near the door. “Come on. No one will see us here.”

Hound looked around. Parts were strewn all over the floor of the shuttle, and wires hung from the walls and ceiling. On one side of the shuttle, a display had been torn out of the wall and the hull had been cut open, exposing the wall of the hanger just next to the shuttle. “Very romantic,” Hound said with a smile.

Bluestreak laughed and walked towards the front of the shuttle. “The pilot’s seat in this one’s still intact.” He spun around the seat and patted its cushioned surface. “Here. Sit down.”

Hound sat in the cockpit’s seat, and grinned as Bluestreak straddled his hips. “All right, I see where you’re going with this,” he said, looking up as the Praxian fanned his door wings over him.

“Do you?” Bluestreak purred. He brushed his lips down Hound’s cheek and nibbled across the outer vent on Hound’s helm. “I don’t think you do.”

“Then show me,” Hound murmured, and wrapped his arms around Bluestreak’s waist, pulling him down firmly into his lap.

A crash at the door of the shuttle made them both jump. “Ow!” They turned to see Wheeljack rubbing the top of his helm where he’d knocked it against the hanging control panel. The engineer peered into the shuttle and said, “Bluestreak? Oh, hi. What are you doing here? Were you in here looking for parts, too?”

“No.” Bluestreak’s door wings flicked once and he stood up. “We were just...”

“We were just looking around,” Hound said, standing next to Bluestreak. “Um. Just trying to find someplace quiet.”

“Oh.” Wheeljack shifted his optics between the two. “I, uh, sort of needed to get the inducer coils out of the floor in this shuttle. We think they’re in good enough shape to use in the rebuild. Um... I could come back later?” he asked. 

Everyone knew how hard it was to find someplace to be alone sometimes.

“No, that’s all right,” Hound said. “I know it’s really important to get another shuttle up and running in case something happens to the only one we have.” He gave Bluestreak a little shrug. “We’ll pop into the rec room to see if anything’s going on there.”

“If you want to come back in a few hours, I should be done by then!” Wheeljack called after them as they left and started for the hanger door.

When they were far enough away from the shuttle that Wheeljack couldn’t hear, Hound exvented heavily. He said, “And I’ve got patrol in two hours.” He brushed his fingers down Bluestreak’s arm and grabbed at his hand. “We’ll figure it out soon.”

“I know,” Bluestreak said, entwining his fingers with Hound’s. “I’m going to make a point of making sure we do.”

* * *

Finally. Finally! Hound lowered his firewalls with a wash of relief. Bluestreak’s processor threads entwined with his as soon as the connection was established, and Hound bucked at the burst of sensation. [[It’s been a hell of a wait, but this is so worth it.]] Hound’s knew his field was practically giddy.

Bluestreak smiled up at Hound. [[All right, pup. Time to see what you’re capable of - ]] 

Bluestreak’s message was cut off as a claxon sounded on all frequencies.

“All hands to battle stations! Decepticons are approaching the base. This is not a drill. All hands to battle stations!” Red Alert’s voice boomed urgently out of the comm system.

[[Are you slagging kidding me?]] Bluestreak growled audibly as he let his helm thump back onto the berth in his quarters. He looked up at Hound. 

Hound shook his helm, equally unimpressed. [[This is unbelievable.]] He raised his firewalls and pulled his cords free of Bluestreak’s interface ports.

They hurriedly disentangled themselves. “I am going to personally disassemble Megatron,” Bluestreak snarled, his field burning with frustration. “Come on, let’s go.” 

They ran to the entrance of the Ark to take up their positions.

Later, Hound reflected that perhaps having an unsatisfied Praxian on their side might be beneficial, considering that during the ensuing battle, Bluestreak managed to cripple four seekers with only three shots.

* * *

Tomorrow was supposed to be the day. Their day. The day they finally managed to interface, for real. Everything was perfectly arranged. Tracks was away in New York for an event with Optimus Prime, so Bluestreak would have his quarters all to himself for almost three whole days. And tomorrow they were both off duty.

What wasn’t supposed to happen was Bluestreak getting caught in an explosion. Brawl had lobbed the device over the Autobots’ defensive line, and it had landed right next to Bluestreak. 

Hound had been across the battlefield, and had only heard Sunstreaker call out a warning. ::Prowl! Blue! Incoming!:: 

A minute later, Prowl’s voice had come over the comm lines. ::Ratchet, report to the rear defensive station immediately. Bluestreak has taken severe damage.::

Hound’s lines had run cold.

The damage was extensive. A large chunk of shrapnel had taken Bluestreak’s left leg off at the knee, and smaller chunks punched holes in various places around the rest of his frame. One piece had lodged next to his fuel pump, and it had taken Ratchet almost three hours to remove just that one piece without doing any further damage. 

Now, Hound slumped in the chair next to Bluestreak’s silent form in the med bay. His fingers brushed gently over the back of Bluestreak’s hand as he looked at his... 

Well, not his lover. Not yet, anyway. Hound exvented heavily and looked at his friend.

“He’ll be fine, Hound.” The green mech lifted his helm and looked up at First Aid. The medic checked something on a monitor and adjusted one of the lines attached to Bluestreak’s frame. “He’s coming along just fine. We’ll bring him back online tomorrow, and you can talk to him then.”

Hound nodded but didn’t say anything.

Tomorrow. Tomorrrow was supposed to be their day. Instead, he held vigil next to Bluestreak’s still frame.

* * *

“So Wheeljack said he should have my new leg done in two days, and after they reattach it, they can let me out of here! Just light duty at first, I guess, but that means I’ll have extra days off.” Bluestreak gave Hound a suggestive flick of his door wings. “Maybe we can finally find some time together that won’t be interrupted by roommates or Deceptions or solar flares or anything else.”

Hound squeezed Bluestreak’s hand, and knew his field was giving him away. He couldn’t help it. “Yeah. About that...”

“What is it?” Bluestreak said, his field suddenly anxious. His door wings sagged slightly. “I... Did you still want to try? I’m sorry things haven’t been working out, but I want them to! Maybe there’s something else we can –“

“Blue, shh,” Hound said, smiling at the sorrowful Praxian. “It’s ok. I want to make it work too. I’m not giving up.”

“Oh!” Bluestreak’s door wings raised again slightly. “Well, good. That’s a relief.” He tilted his helm. “Then what’s wrong?”

Hound exvented sharply. “I got tapped for a high-priority mission. Jazz and I are going to Siberia for two weeks.” Hound frowned. “By the time we get back, you’ll probably be back to full duty.”

“I heard Jazz was going, but...” Bluestreak looked up at the ceiling of the med bay. “Primus. Two weeks.” He looked at Hound and gave him a bitter smile. “I hope you understand that we finally manage to do this, I’m probably going to overload in about two seconds. This wait is killing me.”

Hound laughed and bent over to kiss Bluestreak firmly. “Me too, Blue,” he murmured, and his field swirled with longing.

* * *

Jazz flopped into the shuttle seat next to Hound. “Take us home, Sideswipe!” he called. The red mech tossed a half salute to the commander, already prepping the shuttle for launch. 

The visored racer stretched. “I’m gonna call this mission 110% successful,” he said. “Prowl is gonna be thrilled with the intel we collected.”

“Good! I’m glad it was worth it,” Hound said. He looked out the window as they took off, and his thoughts drifted back to Bluestreak. The Praxian should be back on regular duty by now. He exvented, wondering when their schedules and their private time would synch up again.

“Say, how’re things goin’ with you and Blue?” Jazz asked, kicking back in the seat.

“Good, I guess,” Hound said. He kept his optics fixed on the landscape below.

“Just good?” Jazz shifted closer to Hound. “I was sure you two would hit it off like fireworks. I mean...” Hound looked up just in time to see the racer grin. “Blue’s got a bit of a reputation for being a real artist in the berth.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Hound said, his voice flat.

“What? Hold on now.” Jazz leaned even closer, and Hound leaned away slightly, alarmed at Jazz’s sudden intensity. “What’s the deal? You two’ve been a thing for almost three months now, and I know neither of you is shy about ‘facin’.”

Hound threw a hand in the air. “We’d love to ‘face, but we just can’t seem to find time alone. Prowl schedules us for a day off together a week, but it’s like the whole universe has conspired against us. Roommates. Attacks. Injuries. Missions. We even tried finding someplace outside the Ark to be alone, but apparently two mechs sitting alone in the woods draws the attention of hikers like you wouldn’t believe.” He looked at Jazz, slightly embarrassed at his outburst. “We’ll work it out eventually, I’m sure. We’re both just really frustrated.”

Jazz tapped a finger on his chin for a moment before answering. “Well, I would be, too.” He was silent for another moment before chuckling. “Although, considerin’ your relationship first got goin’ because you got blown off a cliff by a seeker, maybe you two are just bad luck magnets.”

Hound started to laugh, then froze. “When I – how did you know that’s when we first started...” Jazz was right, of course, but even Hound hadn’t fully realized that’s when he started thinking of Bluestreak as someone he’d like to get to know better until very recently.

Jazz flashed half his visor in a wink. “I just notice these things,” he said, and settled back in the seat, offlining his visor completely.

Hound stared at the Special Ops commander for another moment before looking back out the window. He wondered what his fellow “bad luck magnet” was doing.

* * *

“Hound! I need you to report to the med bay right away.” Jazz jogged up to Hound in the hallway, his tone urgent.

“What? I’m not due for a maintenance check for another month,” Hound said, trying to keep his irritation out of his field. He’d just finished filing his report from the mission and wanted to go find Bluestreak. Hound had commed him when they had arrived, but he hadn’t been able to see the Praxian yet.

“No time to explain. Let’s go!” Jazz hauled on his arm and led him towards the med bay.

Mystified, Hound allowed himself to be led into the med bay, where Ratchet was waiting. “Here’s Hound for ya, Ratch,” Jazz said, sketching a salute to the medic and then turning to leave. “As discussed.”

Ratchet looked Hound over and pointed towards one of the private examination rooms. “In there,” he said tersely. When Hound hesitated, he added, “Come on! I don’t have all day.”

Hound hurried into the examination room, but paused in the doorway when he saw Bluestreak sitting on the berth inside. The Praxian was swinging his legs idly, but stopped when he saw the green mech enter. “Hound!” he said, his face lighting up with a huge smile. He jumped to his pedes. “This is a surprise. I think I’m just here so Ratchet can do a final check on my new leg, but I guess you can stay to watch if you want.”

“No,” said Ratchet. Both mechs turned to look at the red and white medic. He smiled at them, a look that seemed odd on his normally serious face. “You’ve got this room for three hours. Totally private, and I’ve shut off the cameras.” He stepped out and rested his hand on the door panel. “Per Jazz’s orders, you’re supposed to make the most of it.”

Ratchet closed the door.

The two mechs stared at each other. “Did he just...” Hound began.

“Are we supposed to...” Bluestreak said at the same time.

They stopped, looked at each other and laughed.

Bluestreak stepped towards Hound and took his hand. “I think we’ve been given a gift.” He brought Hound’s hand to his mouth and kissed it gently. He lifted a questioning brow ridge at Hound.

With a growl and a rev of his engine, Hound pushed Bluestreak back against the medical berth. “How many times do you think we can interface in three hours?” he asked, and pressed a kiss into the gap between Bluestreak’s neck cords and shoulder armor.

“I don’t know,” Bluestreak gasped. “But I fully intend to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (In case anyone's curious, the answer was eight times.)


	26. Interacting with Family Members

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humanformers AU.

Hound looked at himself critically in the hotel bathroom mirror. Beard was neatly trimmed. Grey hair was brushed into submission. Glasses were clean (for a change). Tie was straight. After putting on his suit jacket, he was about as presentable as he was ever going to be.

He came out of the bathroom and found Bluestreak fussing with his tie in the full length wardrobe mirror. The younger man frowned at his reflection. “Maybe this tie doesn’t go with this shirt, after all,” he muttered.

“You look fine,” Hound said. “Those colours look great together.”

Bluestreak grunted and kept fiddling with the knot on his tie. “I can’t get this knot right. It’s all lopsided.”

“Come here.” Hound deftly made a slight adjustment to the knot in Bluestreak’s tie, then gently turned his shoulders back towards the mirror. “There. Perfect.” He glanced at his watch. “We should think about going soon. I’m not sure what the traffic is like between here and the church.”

But Bluestreak didn’t move, and continued staring at himself in the mirror. “Maybe this is a bad idea,” he said quietly.

“Oh, Blue.” Hound wrapped Bluestreak in a hug from behind, resting his head on Bluestreak’s shoulder, and looked at them both in the mirror. “You really should go. It’s your own brother’s wedding. But if you want me to stay here, I will.”

“No!” Bluestreak turned away from the mirror and whirled to face Hound. He put his hands on Hound’s upper arms as if to keep him from moving. “Absolutely not. You’re my husband. My dad has to understand that if I’m included in something, we come as a packaged set.” Then, in a moment, his expression went from resolute to worried. “I just…” He sighed. “I don’t want to ruin Prowl’s day, you know?”

“We’re not going to ruin it just by being there. You’re not going to ruin it. I’m sure Prowl and Arcee knew what they were doing when they put both of our names on the invitation, and not just a chickenshit ‘Bluestreak plus one,’” Hound said. He smiled at Bluestreak. “And besides, it wouldn’t be us ruining the day. We’re just showing up to a celebration to which we were invited.” 

“You’re so much braver than I am with this stuff,” Bluestreak said, turning to get his suit jacket from the wardrobe.

“Not braver. Just more used to the typical bullshit,” Hound said. He grabbed his own jacket and the keys to their rental car. “Now come on. Let’s not make a further spectacle of ourselves by being late, too.”

* * *

“Bluestreak! I’m so happy to see you!”

Bluestreak turned around and saw his aunt making a beeline for him. He smiled, glancing around, and saw Hound at the bar getting them drinks.

“Hey, Aunt Chromia,” he said, giving her a smile. He returned her enthusiastic hug. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, too long. I think the last time we saw you was your mother’s funeral,” she said, her mouth twisting into a tiny frown. “I keep asking your father if you are ever going to come visit for Thanksgiving or Christmas, and he just always says that you’re too busy.”

Bluestreak kept the smile on his face, but knew it was probably starting to look thin. He hadn’t spoken to his father yet, although their eyes had met in the church during the recessional after the wedding. Or rather, his father’s eyes had just slid over him. “Yeah. It’s something like that. But one of these years I would like to make it home for the holidays, though. I do miss everyone.”

“Bluestreak!” Uncle Ironhide appeared at his aunt’s side. “There you are. When are you going to come home for the holidays?”

“Oh, Ironhide, I just asked him that!” Aunt Chromia swatted Ironhide in the chest lightly. She smiled at Bluestreak again. “But, really, dear, we do miss you.”

Bluestreak felt a touch on the small of his back, and turned to see Hound offering him a seltzer water. He accepted it with a grateful smile and took a sip. “Hound, I’d like you to meet my Aunt Chromia – my dad’s sister – and Uncle Ironhide.” He looked back to his aunt and uncle and said, “This is Hound, my husband.”

With a flutter in his stomach, he watched his aunt’s eyes flick towards Hound and widen slightly. Then she smiled and extended her hand. “Hound! I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Hound took Chromia’s hand in his gently. “It’s nice to meet you as well. Blue’s told me a lot about his family.”

“I’m sure,” Chromia said, her smile suddenly brittle. “I… hope that my brother’s attitude doesn’t sour you on our family.”

Hound smiled and was about to speak when Ironhide pointed a finger at Hound’s chest. “Speaking of sour, I’d like to have words with you,” he said. Bluestreak felt his stomach drop, and Chromia’s mouth gaped open before Ironhide continued. “I see you’ve got Ohio State cufflinks. Well, I’m a Michigan man.” He jerked his thumb towards his own chest.

Ironhide and Hound stared at each other for a split second before both collapsed into laughter. 

Chromia moaned and laughed at the same time. “Oh, good heavens, Ironhide. You just about gave me a stroke.” 

As Hound and Ironhide began chatting about the upcoming game between their teams, Chromia pulled Bluestreak aside. “Blue, I think you’ve done very well,” she said with a little smile. “Prowl’s told us such nice things about him. He seems very nice, and he’s devilishly handsome.” She took one of Bluestreak’s hands in hers and patted it. “Don’t let anyone ever let you feel bad for who you are.”

Bluestreak smiled at the diminutive lady. “Thanks, Aunt Chromia,” he said. He glanced up. “I’m gonna go say hi to my brother, all right?”

Bluestreak waited until Prowl and Arcee had finished talking to another guest before stepping up to his brother. “Prowl,” he said.

“Blue.” Prowl stepped forward and wrapped his older brother in a huge hug. “We’re both so glad you could make it.” Prowl stepped back and held Bluestreak out at arm’s length. “Is Hound here?”

“Yeah. He’s over talking to Uncle Ironhide.” He gestured over to where the two men were still engaged in a lively conversation. “Thank you for inviting both of us. I… It meant a lot seeing both of our names on the invitation.”

Arcee smiled. “You’re married. I’d be pissed if we got an invitation from my family that said, ‘Arcee and Guest.’ I’m just really glad that you could both come.”

Bluestreak grinned at her, then at Prowl. “Well, of course I came. I wasn’t about to miss my little brother’s wedding!”

He saw Prowl’s eyes flick to something over his shoulder. Turning to look, Bluestreak saw their father looking at him over his drink. Bluestreak dropped his gaze and turned around again. “I… I don’t think I can go talk to him. Not after...”

“I know. He knows.” Prowl sighed. “I think he’s tired of being angry, but doesn’t know how to stop.” He glanced over at their father again. “I told him that you were coming. I said that if he couldn’t be nice, if he was going to make a scene, then we didn’t want him coming to our wedding. I wanted you to be here, but I also want you to feel welcome.” Prowl gave his older brother a serious look. “Don’t let him give you any of his shit, ok?”

Bluestreak felt a lump rise in his throat, and he took a sip from his drink to resolve it. “Thanks again, Prowl. You’re a better brother than I deserve.”

The black-haired younger man laughed. “Does this mean you finally forgive me for breaking your Millennium Falcon?”

Laughing, Bluestreak held up a hand. “Hang on, now. That might be a bit too far.”

* * *

The bride and groom were gone to their hotel for the night, and the reception hall’s crowd had thinned. Most people sat around in small clumps, chatting, while a handful of others were dancing. 

Bluestreak leaned his head on his hand, his elbow propped up on the table, watching the antics on the dance floor. Hound was out dancing again. Smiling, Bluestreak watched his husband flail about with the other dancers. What Hound lacked in coordination, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. 

A chair scraped the floor next to him, and he looked up. The smile fell off his lips as soon as he met the man’s eyes. “Dad,” he said, a wary look on his face.

“Blue.” His father sat down, pulling the chair back so far that Bluestreak couldn’t have reached out to touch him. The older man pointed at the glass in Bluestreak’s hand. “What’re you drinking?”

“Water.” When his father raised an eyebrow, Bluestreak said, “I’m the designated driver tonight. Someone has to get us both back to our hotel safely.”

His father’s eyes flicked to the man floundering about on the dance floor, and he nodded once.

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“I wish your mother was still alive to see your brother get married,” his father said quietly.

Bluestreak said nothing, afraid of what he might say if he opened his mouth.

Another silence.

“Blue...” His father sighed when Bluestreak didn’t look at him. “I want to clear up some... misunderstanding about what happened the last time we talked.”

“I don’t see how I could misinterpret my father telling me at my mother’s funeral that I’m never going to see her again, because I’m going to burn in hell when I die.” Bluestreak’s voice was flat.

“Blue...”

Hound had caught sight of Bluestreak’s father sitting near him, and was striding towards them. Bluestreak stood up and collected both his and Hound’s suit jackets. “It’s been nice chatting with you, dad. I think it’s time for us to go.”

“Blue, wait.” His father pushed himself up from his chair.

Bluestreak handed Hound his jacket, then turned to his father with an expectant expression. “What?” he asked.

His father seemed very small. Bluestreak was also suddenly struck by how old his father looked. Quietly, his father said, “I am... so sorry. For what I said.” He swirled the scotch around in his glass and stared at it as if it was the most fascinating thing in the universe. “At... the funeral. If there was any way for me to go back and take back what I said...”

“There isn’t,” Bluestreak said. Hound touched his arm, and Bluestreak glanced at him, then sighed. “You can’t unsay it. I can’t unhear it. We can’t pretend that five years of us not talking just didn’t happen. Five years of being excluded from family events. Five years of missing holidays because you didn’t want me around. Five. Years.” Bluestreak swallowed hard. “You hurt me, dad. We’d just lost mom and then... And then you...” His voice cracked, and he felt Hound’s arm go around his shoulders. 

“Blue, I...” His father’s voice trailed off.

Gathering himself, Bluestreak said, “Dad. We’re going back to our hotel now. But...” He sighed and glanced at Hound. “We’re gonna be at breakfast tomorrow with everyone from out of town. If you want to talk then, we can.” He looked pointedly at the drink in his father’s hand. “I don’t want you to say anything else tonight that you might regret in the morning.” He looked back up and added, “But if you still want talk, we can do it tomorrow at breakfast. I’ll listen.” 

After a pause, his father nodded once. Then he set the glass down on the table and looked at his son and his husband. “Drive safe, all right?”

Bluestreak nodded. “I always do.” He shrugged into his jacket. “See you tomorrow, dad.”

* * *

The streetlights flickered past the windows, casting odd shadows over Bluestreak’s face. Hound stared at him for a few minutes before saying, “That was kind of rough.”

Bluestreak sighed. “Prowl said he talked to him before the wedding. Read him the riot act. He said something about dad being tired of being angry.” Bluestreak pressed his lips together. “But I don’t know if I’m ready to stop being angry for what he’s done.”

“Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die,” Hound said.

Bluestreak glanced at him, a small smile on his face. “That’s very pithy.”

Hound shrugged. “I read it somewhere. Thought it sounded like the right thing to say.”

Sighing, Bluestreak said, “I’ll see if he wants to talk tomorrow. I have a sinking feeling it was just the booze talking.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Just don’t expect the worst, ok?” Hound put his hand on Bluestreak’s thigh. “Trust me, life’s too short for that kind of bullshit.”

“I’ll try. No promises.” He drove for another few minutes. At a red traffic light, he turned to Hound and said, “Do you ever regret not having a big huge fancy wedding like that? With a cake and band and reception and cocktails and all that?”

Hound chuckled. “Not really. It’s a lot of money to spend on what amounts to a fancy party. Plus, while that dress looked great on Arcee, I don’t think you’d look very good in something that frilly.”

Bluestreak nodded. “You’re probably right. But you would look stunning in it.”

“Damn right,” Hound said, lifting his head proudly. “I can rock taffeta like no one’s business.”

They filled the car with laughter as the light turned green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what happened here, it just kept going. Back to your regularly scheduled giant alien car robots tomorrow.


	27. Moving in Together

It started out as a dream.

“We could find a place in the outback, and start doing guiding tours full time. There are some mechs that are starting to live out there, so we won’t be totally alone, but we won’t have people surrounding us all the time like we do in the city.” Bluestreak smiled at Hound over his drink and tipped his helm to the side questioningly. “Plus we could have all the room we need for our gear, and we wouldn’t have to rent storage space anymore.”

Hound ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “You’ve thought a lot about this.” 

Bluestreak nodded, his door wings tipping upwards. “I have. I admit it. It just seemed to make sense, us getting out of the city. Plus...” He reached out across the table and took Hound’s hand. “I suspect that you might be happier out there. Out of the city.”

Hound thought Bluestreak had a point.

The problem they found, after agreeing that it was a good idea, was that there were no places in the outback for them to buy, fix up, or otherwise take over. Their only option was to build. And that cost shanix that they simply didn’t have.

For a time, it seemed like the idea would just go back to being a dream.

Then, one day, Hound came back home to their shared flat and slapped a flyer on the counter. “Look at that,” he said.

Bluestreak looked at the flyer and his door wings twitched. “The Constructicons are running their own business now?”

“Well, they have been for a while. But Prowl finally convinced them that they should do some advertising.” He set a data pad on the counter where the flyer had been. “And... I asked them for a quote on a property and residence in the outback.”

Frowning, Bluestreak picked up the data pad and read it. His door wings shot up over his shoulders, and he glanced at Hound. “Is this number right? I mean... Does it include everything? Land? Foundation? Electrical?” He looked back at the pad, his expression on of disbelief. “This estimate looks way too low. Surely they left out something, like… a roof.”

Hound smiled. “Apparently friends of Prowl get discounts.” He met Bluestreak’s optics. “We can totally do this.”

They debated for several cycles. Could they afford it? If they started working their business full time, could they still afford it then? What if it failed? Would they need to move back to the city?  
After a deca-cycle of spark-searching, they met with the Constructicons to sign a contract. 

They were really doing this.

* * *

They’d been out to the site several times over the past few orbital cycles to check on the progress, but Bluestreak still felt a flutter of anxiety as they came off the main road and descended down the winding trail to their new property.

Their property. They owned property. Bluestreak and Hound were property owners.

Bluestreak felt another flutter, this time of excitement.

Coming around a tall stand of crystals, Bluestreak let out a small squeal over the comm line. ::Oh, Primus, Hound. It’s gorgeous.::

The one-story building with a large, Earth-style porch sat in the middle of a large clearing. Solar panels adorned the roof, and large windows looked out in every direction. An outbuilding sat a small distance away from the house. 

Hound pulled up in front of the house and transformed. He smiled as Bluestreak stopped beside him and did the same. “So, Hook and Bonecrusher showed me around when I came out for the final inspection,” Hound said. “Let me show you the barn first.”

The barn was a simple construction: basically four walls with a large sliding door. A clearsteel roof allowed daylight to stream in, illuminating the interior without the need for lighting. “There’s low-power lights for night time, too,” Hound said. 

“This is plenty of space for our trailer,” Bluestreak said, looking around. “Actually, this is a lot of space. What are we going to do with it all?”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” Hound said. “Come on, I want to show you the house.”

They walked to the house and climbed the stairs onto the porch. Hound paused after keying open the door, and looked at Bluestreak. “I feel like we should do something special,” he said. “This is our first time walking into our new home together.”

With a laugh, Bluestreak said, “What if I did this?” He bent slightly and scooped Hound up into his arms. “Didn’t some Earth cultures have something about carrying each other over the threshold in a new house?”

Hound clung to Bluestreak’s shoulders. “I think that was after they got married, but this works too,” he said, laughing.

Bluestreak planted a kiss on Hound’s cheek. “Well, whatever. New Cybertronian tradition then!” 

With Hound still laughing, Bluestreak carried the green mech into their new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in my [Black on White on Black](https://archiveofourown.org/series/776487) series AU. (Absolutely not required reading for this story.)
> 
> This house features in the sequel to Ghost of the Howling Plans. It’s about half-written now, so I had a good mental image of what the house looked like already. :)


	28. Falling in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after [Chapter 25: Trying to Seduce One Another (Or: Five Times Bluestreak and Hound Tried to Interface, and the Time They Finally Did)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468/chapters/29259168).

Hound wasn’t sure when it happened. Then, after he realized that it had happened, he didn’t know what to do about it.

Should he tell him? Would he take it wrong? Did he feel the same way?

Hound’s spark fluttered just thinking about it.

He watched as the Praxian perched on the edge of the couch, his fingers flying over one of the large control pads that Wheeljack had made for the Autobots. Sideswipe had the other controller, and they were going head-to-head in some kind of fighting game.

Bluestreak tilted the control pad, his glossa sticking out slightly between his lips. He mashed the buttons furiously, his attention laser-focused on the screen. Hound watched him with rapt attention.

Suddenly Bluestreak gave a victory shout and threw a fist into the air. “Yes! I told you I could do that combo, Sideswipe!”

Sideswipe shook his helm. “That was complete and utter slag. You should never have been able to get that off. Best two out of three?” he asked.

Bluestreak glanced at Hound, and smiled. Hound felt the flutter in his spark again. Looking back at Sideswipe, Bluestreak set down his control pad. “Nah. I promised Hound we’d go for a drive. Maybe next time.”

Sideswipe tossed his control pad on the table and made a little pout. “Aww. All right, fine. But you owe me a rematch!”

Bluestreak waved his hand in agreement, then reached out to take Hound’s. “Let’s go,” he said with a smile and a flutter of his door wings.

Hound’s spark fluttered right along.

The drive was leisurely, and they drove mostly in silence. Even though they had not discussed the destination ahead of time, they both took the road to the hidden lake in the hills behind the Ark. It was a popular spot to relax for Autobots who were off duty.

As they emerged from the trees, Hound was pleased to see that no other mechs seemed to be there. Bluestreak transformed into root mode and settled on their favourite spot, a grassy hill overlooking the lake. 

The Praxian lay back in the grass and stretched indolently. His door wings flattened against the grass, and he pulled every cable in his frame taut as he flexed his pedes and fingers in opposite directions. His plating gapped open at the seams as he worked the tightness out of his struts.

Settling down in the grass next to him, Hound rested on his elbow, propping his helm up with a hand. He watched Bluestreak, taking in the way his optics squeezed shut when he got the stretch just right. Finally Bluestreak relaxed, and rolled his helm to the side to look at Hound. After a moment he asked, “All right, what is it? You’ve been staring at me all day with this funny little smile on your face.”

“I just like looking at you.” He reached a hand out and rested it on Bluestreak’s chest plate. “I like seeing you relax like this. I like spending time with you.”

Rolling on his side and mimicking Hound’s pose, Bluestreak rested his own helm on his hand, propped up on an elbow. “I like spending time with you, too,” he said. With a grin, he added, “And I can trade sweet little nothings with you all day if you want.”

Hound laughed a little. 

He felt the flutter in his spark again.

He wanted to tell him.

But what he wanted to say was a lot more than a sweet little nothing.

A slight frown crossed Bluestreak’s face as Hound’s expression became serious. “What is it, pup?” he asked.

Flutter.

“I love you,” Hound said.

Bluestreak didn’t react. He just looked at Hound with a blank expression.

Hound’s spark lurched and drew in on itself.

After a moment, Hound sat up, resting his arms on his bent knees as he looked out over the placid lake. “I’m sorry,” Hound said quietly.

“For what?”

Hound turned and looked at Bluestreak. The Praxian’s expression was still blank, and his door wings were still. “I’m sorry for... I’m sorry if you weren’t ready to hear that.” He looked back at the lake. 

Another minute of silence passed.

Hound heard Bluestreak sit up, and felt his arms go around him. Bluestreak rested his helm against Hound’s shoulder. “It’s not that I wasn’t ready to hear it,” he said quietly. “It’s that I never thought that I would hear it.”

Hound pulled back slightly so he could look at Bluestreak. The red and silver mech’s optics were solemn, holding none of their usual cheer. Instead, Hound could see flickers of the ghosts that he knew lived with Bluestreak every day. “Never?” Hound asked, feeling dumb. “Why?”

His optics flicking away from Hound’s, Bluestreak quietly said, “How can you love someone this broken?”

“Blue... Blue, listen to me.” Hound put a hand on Bluestreak’s cheek, gently turning his face so he could look into his optics again. “You are the most amazing mech I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing,” he said firmly. “You are talented. You have a great sense of humour. You take delight in everyday things. You face every day with an optimism that I don’t think I could ever muster if I’d been through what you have.” He let his helm fall forward to rest his forehelm on Bluestreak’s chevron. “You bring joy into my existence every day, and I love you for it.”

As he spoke, Hound could feel Bluestreak’s field flowing around him, unrestrained and unfiltered. Disbelief. Sadness. Doubt. Then... Like the sun rising in the morning, there was a beam of gratitude that washed over everything and lit his aura with affection.

Bluestreak’s vocalizer buzzed with quiet static, and he switched to comms. ::Hound, I... I don’t know what to say.::

“Don’t say anything, Blue,” Hound murmured, tracing his thumb over Bluestreak’s helm vent. He gently pressed his lips against Bluestreak’s, then smiled at him again. “You don’t have to say anything in return. I’m not expecting you to feel the same. I just wanted to tell you how I felt.” 

Exventing softly, Bluestreak finally got his vocalizer under control. “You know me. I have to say something,” he said with a little laugh. “So... Thank you.” He rested his helm against Hound’s shoulder and curled into his embrace. “Thank you so much.”

They stayed there until the last rays of the sun lit the trees around them like towers of flame.


	29. Doing Chores

Dust and grit got everywhere in the Ark.

It was a serious problem. Cybertron also had dust and grit, of course – the infamous rust storms were testament to how gritty the atmosphere on Cybertron could be – but the dust there did not have the same organic contaminants. Add in the high-oxygen and high-humidity environment of Earth, and the combination could be devastating.

Wheeljack and Perceptor had made air cleaners that were set up around the Ark in key locations: the control room, the rec room, the hanger, and most importantly the medical bay. But they had to run constantly, and if one of them broke down it was an emergency. Resources being what they were, the Autobots could only manage to run those four air cleaners at once.

That meant the rest of the Ark would get dusty, and fast. And of all the duties that the Autobots detested, cleaning dust from the ventilation shafts was the worst. 

No one liked doing it. Being assigned to dust a room or a set of hallways was one thing, but cleaning the ventilation shafts was an objectively horrible job. It took forever, it was cramped and hot, and when you were done you had to spend a good hour in the wash rack getting all of the dust off yourself and fixing up the scrapes you’d gotten on your finish from crawling through the shafts.

It was such a hated chore that even the officers took turns on the duty cycle for it. Although Optimus had difficulty fitting into the smaller shafts, he still routinely took his turn on what everyone considered to be the worst job on the Ark. It was only fair.

Then, Hound and Bluestreak were assigned to the task together.

“What are you two smiling about?” Sideswipe asked Bluestreak and Hound. He was just leaving the wash rack after coming back from patrol, and the two mechs entering the racks had wide, goofy grins on their faces.

“Nothing. Just finished dusting the ventilation shafts,” Bluestreak said, his door wings wavering in the air behind him.

“Aww, slag. It was your turn, huh?” Sideswipe asked. “That’s tough. Oh well, better you than me,” he added with a laugh.

A few days later, Prowl was cycling his optics and stared at the two mechs in front of him. “You want to... **volunteer** to dust the ventilation shafts?” he asked, an incredulous tone edging into his voice.

Hound nodded. “Yes, sir. It needs to be done, what - once a month? We’ll do it.”

Prowl looked between them again, then called up the duty roster. “Very well. I have added you to the schedule for next month as well.” He set down his data pad. “Can I ask why you are volunteering?”

“Well, once we got to it, it was kind of fun,” Bluestreak said. He glanced at Hound and grinned. “I mean, if you approach it like a game, it makes the time go faster, and you don’t mind how dusty you get. Have you ever played Pacman? It’s the same idea.”

“Pacman,” Prowl repeated.

“I’m pretty sure Wheeljack got a port of the game for the system in the rec room if you wanted to try it out,” Bluestreak said. “You really should give it a shot, because it’s lots of fun. Anyway, you said you’ve got us on the schedule? That’s great, Prowl, thanks so much!”

“You’re... welcome?” Prowl said as the two mechs left his office. He shook his helm and got back to his work.

A few months later, Cliffjumper and Bumblebee cornered Hound in the rec room. “Ok, spill it,” Cliffjumper said. “Why have you and Bluestreak been on shaft duty for three months? What the frag did you guys do to deserve that?”

Hound shrugged and smiled. “We volunteered.”

“You volunteered?” Bumblebee said loudly and incredulously, causing a few mechs looked up from a nearby table. “Why?”

“It’s not so bad,” Hound said, grabbing his cube of energon from the dispenser. “If you go into it with the right mindset, it’s actually kind of fun.”

“Fun. Shaft duty. Fun.” Cliffjumper stared at Hound as though he’d grown a set of wings and become a Seeker. He shook his helm. “Are you glitched?”

“Nope,” said Hound as he walked away. “I just found a way to be happy with my work.”

* * *

Bluestreak turned off the dust extractor as Hound approached him from the other direction. “All done?” he asked.

“All done,” Hound said, setting down his own equipment and crawling the rest of the way to Bluestreak. 

Reaching out a hand, Bluestreak rubbed a smear of dust off of Hound’s face. “You must have gotten into a really bad spot,” he said.

“Yeah, I think it was over Wheeljack’s lab,” Hound said, rising to his knees and wrapping Bluestreak in his arms. He pressed his lips to the crest in the center of Bluestreak’s chevron. “Maybe I’ll let you do that part next time,” he murmured.

“It’s only fair,” Bluestreak said, digging his fingers into one of Hound’s transformation seams and smiling at the green mech’s sudden intake of air. 

“They’re going to figure out why we want to be up here eventually,” Hound said, nibbling along Bluestreak’s jaw.

Bluestreak laughed. “Well, then let’s make the most of it before everyone wants a turn up here,” he murmured, gently pushing Hound onto his back and covering him with kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was not my original intention when I wrote this, but this chapter **could** be read as an extension of [Chapter 25: Trying to Seduce One Another (Or: Five Times Bluestreak and Hound Tried to Interface, and the Time They Finally Did)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468/chapters/29259168). :)


	30. Pillow Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after [Chapter 1: Getting Lost Somewhere](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468/chapters/28667296).

As the roar of their cooling fans filled the hab suite with white noise, drowning out the sound of the _Lost Light’s_ engines, Hound stared up at the ceiling. “Yup,” he said once his core temperature had fallen slightly. “I had totally forgotten that you could do that.”

Bluestreak laughed and rolled onto his side, propping his helm up with his hand. “I should write a book,” he said, grinning. “I could call it _Bluestreak’s Interfacing Tips and Techniques_.” He traced his fingers across Hound’s chest.

Hound caught Bluestreak’s hand and brought it to his lips. “I’m sure it would be a best seller. I’d buy a copy,” he said. “I’d even write the forward for it.”

Giggling, Bluestreak asked, “Oh? And what would the forward say?”

With a hum, Hound thought for a moment. “While Bluestreak will never be considered a mech of few words, it’s what else he can do with his lips that will make him famous across the galaxy,” he recited. As Bluestreak began to laugh, Hound continued, “And even while his mouth is busy making sure you know exactly what he thinks of your frame, his digits will continue to speak to you in chirolinguistics.”

“Hound!” Bluestreak said, throwing his helm back in laughter.

Grinning up at Bluestreak, Hound said, “Am I wrong? Because I am sure you were speaking to me in tongues and in digits.” 

Their laughter filled the hab suite.

After their giggles faded, Bluestreak pulled himself closer to Hound. Nestling himself against Hound’s side, his helm on the four-by-four’s shoulder, Bluestreak said, “I still don’t understand why we let this get away from us.”

Hound shrugged. “Time. Distance.” His optics dimmed momentarily. “War.” He raised a hand and brushed it down the side of Bluestreak’s helm, gently tracing the outline of his audial, his helm vent, his chin. “Duty.” He let his hand fall back onto his chest. “Believe me, it wasn’t on purpose.”

“Same here,” said Bluestreak, rolling slightly so he was half laying on top of Hound. He pillowed his chin on his hands, staring into Hound’s optics. “So my question now is: how do we make sure it doesn’t get away from us again?”

Hound stared at Bluestreak. He opened his mouth, then closed it and glanced away.

His lips twitching into a smile, Bluestreak poked Hound’s cheek with a single digit. “Hey. Come on. What were you going to say?”

The green mech frowned. “Nothing. Just thinking. It was silly.” 

“Oh, no you don’t. I know that look.” Bluestreak sat up and swung a leg over Hound’s frame until he was straddling the green mech. He put his hands on Hound’s shoulders and brought his face down close to his lover’s. “Spill it, pup,” he said with a grin.

Hound blew out a vent of air and said, “I just thought... It was... I don’t want to make you uncomfortable... I mean...” When Bluestreak drummed his fingers against Hound’s shoulder armor, he blurted out, “I was thinking that we could become Conjunx Endura.”

They both went still.

After a moment, Hound rolled his helm to the side and closed his optics. “Yeah. See? I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you feel –“

“Yes.”

“What?” Hound opened his optics and looked up at Bluestreak.

The Praxian was smiling down at Hound, his optics gleaming a rich blue in the dim light of the hab suite. “Sure. I mean, I do. Or whatever I’m supposed to say to indicate yes.” Bluestreak laughed quietly. “I’m not sure how it works, you know? I never expected...”

Hauling himself to a sitting position, Hound gripped Bluestreak’s upper arms and looked at him intently. “No. Wait. Are you sure? Me?”

Bluestreak nodded, his smile growing slightly. “I’m sure.” He rested his hands on Hound’s waist. “Honest. Are **you** sure?”

“Yes. I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” Hound’s optics darted all over Bluestreak’s face as if trying to memorize the Praxian’s expression in this moment. Then he said, “I wanted to ask you earlier. You know, before. On Earth. But there was never a right moment and then... Time got away from me and...” He exvented. “I don’t think I could forgive myself if I let this moment slip away without asking.”

Leaning forward top rest his helm against Hound’s, Bluestreak smiled. “I love you, Hound,” he said. “And I never want to lose sight of you again.”

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it! Thirty short stories! I did it!  
> *does a victory lap*
> 
> So... You might have noticed that a few of those chapters strung themselves together into a G1 "how they met" story. I actually intended the first and last chapters to act as bookends for that story. I may pull it out, clean it up a bit and repost that as a standalone story at some point.
> 
> Also, I'm working on a much larger story that was inspired by the [In a Fairy Tale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468/chapters/28976529) and [Shopping Together](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586468/chapters/29140374) chapters. Unfortunately it's turning into an epic novel, but it's still coming along. :)
> 
> Thanks for coming with me on this. It was a lot of work, but fun too. ^.^


End file.
